


Kintsugi

by Nemi_Almasy



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I mean like slooooowwwwww burn, M/M, Mostly Tsengru with some side Rudereno, Novelization, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 85,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26001712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemi_Almasy/pseuds/Nemi_Almasy
Summary: Rufus and the Turks have spent the better part of their lives breaking themselves apart piece by piece, a sacrificial requirement of the lives they lead. Together, they find a way to become whole again, though not unchanged, marked forever by the scars that bind them together.This is a loose novelization of the full compilation material beginning before Before Crisis and spanning to the end of Advent Children, from the point of view of Rufus and his Turks - but predominantly Tseng and Rufus. Canon will not be strictly adhered to and some elements from remake will probably be incorporated.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Rufus Shinra & Tseng, Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 85
Kudos: 176





	1. Rebirth

Tseng was fifteen years old when the war broke out and though his father hailed from Wutai, though he had been raised to learn the language and understand the culture, his entire life had been spent far removed from the country his father called home.

Every evening Tseng would sit on the floor of the living room in their modest home in Mideel, sandwiched between his siblings while they watched the television for news about the war. His father was of two minds about the ordeal and never voiced the same opinion twice as to which side he fell on. Wutai was his home, but he and Tseng’s mother were doctors working for Shinra. Could they really condemn the entire company and its territories when they did so much good? Hadn’t Shinra sent them to establish a much needed hospital on Mideel after all? Maybe the dissidents ought to let Shinra build a reactor like they wanted.

But when the news would show an ancient towering pagoda crumbling to pieces in the wake of a Shinra attack, his face would become a dark mask of anger and he would turn the television off.

Tseng felt detached from any strong feelings about the war. Shinra’s dominance had already been established long ago. What hope did a tiny country like Wutai have in ebbing the flow of their conquest?

It wasn’t long after the war began that Tseng left home. His choices had been limited from the start, but as the war continued, Shinra began recruiting doctors to the front lines and Tseng’s parents were on their list. Though he had spent his entire life on Mideel, there were no emotional ties holding him there if his parents left. His older siblings had already flown the nest, his younger siblings would go where his parents went, and Tseng often got lost in the fold anyway. So he made up his mind to travel to Midgar and get a job with Shinra, as his parents had. There was no patriotic duty in the decision - Midgar was simply where young boys went to find a new and exciting life.

A life spent hidden from attention, hogged by his siblings and more extroverted peers, meant Tseng wasn’t looking for fame or fortune. He would be happy to get lost in a different fold, get a nice desk job and live comfortably in the ‘floating city of the future’. He left home with a few thousand gil scrounged up from summer jobs, a bag of baked goods from his mother, and an expensive Wutaian fountain pen with an image of leviathan wrapped around it gifted to him by his father ‘to remember his heritage’.

There was no direct route to Midgar from an island like Mideel, so Tseng took a flight to the eastern continent on a tiny puddle jumper and took a series of buses and trains the rest of the way. On the fourth day of his travel, the city came into view on the other side of a vast wasteland of dead earth, stunning in its size and grandeur. Tseng had never seen anything like it in his life; the largest building in Mideel was six stories and had been condemned after a particularly bad earthquake affected its foundation.

Despite leaving Mideel without any notions of a fabulous and interesting life, he found himself envisioning how wonderful it might be living on the plate, making enough to eat at expensive restaurants and try exotic new foods.

The first lesson Midgar taught Tseng was that life was not as glamorous or exciting in the famous city as he had been led to believe. The plate was prohibitively expensive, even to rent a tiny room in a shared home. He spent his entire first day seeking accommodation and being turned away when he didn’t have enough gil to pay.

‘You’ll have better luck in the slums, kid.’

So that’s where he went, down beneath the plate where the air was hot and stagnant and smelled vaguely of waste, trapped as it was beneath the sectors above. They never showed this part of Midgar in the tourism ads that constantly played on TV. Everything was falling apart or put together in such a ramshackle fashion that it may as well have been. But he did find an affordable place to stay, at least temporarily, while he looked for a job.

That too was more difficult than he had been led to believe. Working for Shinra, even as a lowly office worker, was a coveted position to be in. Shinra guaranteed housing above the plate to many of its employees, so a job with them meant a ticket out of the slums. Tseng had no real experience to make him stand out, and though he applied to as many vacant positions as he could find, his applications went unanswered.

His savings dwindling quickly, Tseng resorted to using one of the few skills he had. Doctors were in short supply in the slums, and those that were available were often greedy, charging just enough that it was a burden on their patients, but not so much that a slum dweller couldn’t afford it if they were truly desperate. Tseng began offering his services to the people in Sector 3, where he was temporarily living. He wasn’t trained, but his parents had taught him how to set bones, how to stitch up wounds, and how to treat minor injuries and he charged far less than any other ‘doctor’ in the area. It earned him a good reputation with the locals, but it also earned him the attention of one Don Corneo: a mob boss running a number of illegal operations beneath the plate who held many of the slum doctors in his pocket.

Two events happened in the span of the week that would irrevocably change Tseng’s life forever. The first was that a group of Don Corneo’s lackeys showed up at his apartment, which also doubled as his clinic. They came in the dead of night and Tseng awoke to three massive men looming over him and before he had time even to scream, one of them had his hand around Tseng’s throat, lifting him into the air and slamming him against the wall.

“You think you can come in here and just step on the Don’s turf, huh? You got a brain in that skull or is it all empty?”

“Ah man, he’s just a kid,” said one of the other lackeys, frowning at Tseng with a sympathetic look. “He might don’t know any better.”

The first man smacked him on the back of the head before delivering a kick to Tseng’s ribs that knocked the wind out of him. “Then consider this a warning, kid. The Don decides the prices for the grounders and he don’t like you charging so cheap. It’s losing him business. You understand?”

Tseng stared back at the men wordlessly. He had never believed the world to be a fair or just place, and a few months in Midgar had been more than enough to teach him that the city was no different. But he also wasn’t a coward. He refused to grovel at their feet for forgiveness in breaking a rule he had never been aware of to begin with.

“You deaf or somethin’?” The man bellowed.

Tseng spit at him, which earned him a swift punch across the jaw, jarring him backward and causing him to slam his head into the wall. He fell unconscious and when he awoke, the men were gone, as was all of his gil and the expensive Wutaian pen his father had gifted him.

It took him some time to get up off of the floor and take a look at himself in the mirror. His jaw was bruised and swollen and his ribs ached so badly when he breathed that he was certain they were broken. So this was the true Midgar with its shiny veneer picked away.

Tseng continued to operate his clinic despite the threats. As soon as he had the money, he found a less than reputable shop where he bought himself a pistol and some ammunition: he would not be unprepared if they came for him again, which he knew they would. He wasn’t the best shot in the world, but he knew he was better off with some means of defending himself.

The next time someone showed up unexpectedly at his door, however, it wasn’t Don Corneo’s thugs. It was a tall middle-aged man with neatly groomed salt and pepper hair and a thin beard wearing a crisp black suit. Tseng had answered the knock with his gun in hand, but the man commanded such an air of authority with one look that he stepped back and holstered his gun.

“I understand you’ve been running a clinic from this apartment,” the man said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Yes,” answered Tseng.

“Do you know who I am?”

Tseng didn’t know specifically, but he had heard the other slum-dwellers frequently discussing a group of Shinra operatives known colloquially as the Turks. They showed up in a smart black suits and wherever they were spotted, it usually meant they had come to clean up a mess for Shinra. What exactly ‘cleaning up’ entailed was left open to interpretation.

“Are you a Turk?” Tseng asked.

The man smiled. “My name is Veld. And you are?”

At the time, Tseng had not yet chosen the name that he would end up going by for the rest of his life: his alias. He answered with his given name and then said, “But I bet you already knew that.”

“Clever boy,” Veld nodded. He took a seat in a chair meant for Tseng’s patients.

“Are you here to kill me?” Asked Tseng. He wasn’t afraid, but he knew if the man wanted him dead, there was nothing he could do to stop him.

“No, no. Don Corneo would certainly like that. By the looks of you, you’ve met his associates.” He gripped Tseng’s chin and scanned his face. “You took quite a beating, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine,” Tseng jerked away from him and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Why are you here?”

“Part of my job is to find people we think would make good recruits for the Turks,” Veld explained. “I’ve been watching you for a while now. I think you have a solid set of skills to start you off strong in our training academy. And I think you’d be better suited to that kind of work than risking your life running this little clinic of yours.”

“You want me to work for Shinra?” Tseng tried to mute his enthusiasm in the question. Despite running the clinic, he had not given up hope that he might find a position with Shinra one day. He knew just little enough about the Turks that the prospect sounded intriguing, rather than terrifying: exciting spy missions, like the movies his father used to watch.

“Yes.” Veld nodded. “The process is not a guarantee that you have what it takes to be a Turk. If you agree to come with me, you’ll spend two years in training academy. If you pass all your final exams, you’ll become a Turk. If not, we can usually find a vacancy somewhere else for you to fill.”

“And I’d get to work for Shinra either way?”

“Yes. Your parents work for Shinra, don’t they?”

It unsettled Tseng that he knew that, but he supposed it was a Turk’s job to know everything about a target. “Yes, sir.”

“You had better make your decision quickly,” Veld suggested, rising to his feet and stepping toward the door. “Don Corneo won’t be pleased to hear you’re still operating this clinic of yours. It would be a shame for such a talented boy to wind up dead for crossing the wrong man.”

“I want to join,” Tseng said without hesitation.

Veld laughed. “You don’t even want to think on it?”

“No.” He stood up. “Please, sir.”

“Then gather whatever you want to bring with you,” Veld said. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

It hardly felt real, gathering up what few possessions Tseng had to his name and following Veld out to a waiting helicopter, which took them above the plate straight to Sector 0 where Shinra Tower stood gleaming over the rest of the city. Inside of Shinra Tower was exactly what Tseng had expected of Midgar when he first arrived: stunning architecture, beautiful decor, the type of grandeur Tseng had only dreamed of experiencing in person. People milled about chatting excitedly and watching with interest as the Turk and his new recruit passed them by. It filled Tseng with a renewed sense of hope.

The next two years crushed most of that hope out of him, as was Midgar’s way. He was outfitted with his own black suit, which he quickly outgrew as several growth spurts hit him over the years of his academy training. He was also outfitted with a weapon of his choosing and a trainer to help him become proficient with it. He waffled back and forth between martial arts, which appealed to him because the trainer was Wutaian and used Wutaian methods, and the pistol, which seemed a more practical instrument for the trade. In the end he chose martial arts - all Turks would receive basic firearms training anyway.

And that became his temporary name in academy: ‘Fists’ was what his classmates called him, ‘Martial Arts’ was what the Turks training them called him. Part of becoming a Turk, he and his classmates learned, was shedding your past and leaving it behind. At the end of academy, if you passed, you could choose your alias. Some kept the same names they had before, dropping any surnames to tie them back to the family they came from, but most picked a new name to distinguish their new self from their past. Tseng thought often about what he might choose for his alias, as though it were guaranteed he ever made it that far.

Despite his introverted nature, Tseng found he got on well with his three fellow trainees. There was a sword specialist, a rod specialist, and an explosives expert. All of them, Tseng learned, came from questionable backgrounds. Katana, as they came to call her, was an ex-convict who had worked out a plea deal with Shinra, recognizing her skills could be more useful outside of a prison cell than in one. Rod had been the leader of a gang in the slums. Bomb once led a little rag-tag anti-Shinra resistance group made up of a bunch of teenagers, but had been betrayed by a comrade and recruited by Shinra after the resulting fallout. Only Tseng came from a relatively decent upbringing, and though at first he thought this made him somehow better than the others, deserving of some sort of higher station, he quickly realized that in the end, he had just been a stupid kid scraping by in the slums who happened to have a set of skills Shinra could put to use.

The first eight weeks of academy consisted of hours of intensive training with relatively little time to recover between sessions. In the morning, all four recruits ate breakfast together, then there were two hours of educational lectures on the history of the company. They were shown pictures of the executives and other VIPs like the president’s son, given extensive background history on all of them, and then quizzed on it. Two hours of martial arts training and sparring followed the lectures, then a lunch break, two hours of firearms training, and two hours of observing field agents to round off the day. One day a week they were allowed a half day, spending the morning running laps and lifting weights, with the afternoon to do as they pleased. Typically this entailed the four of them exploring the city. Allowed to roam free on the upper plate, they found clubs where they wasted money on overpriced alcohol and did a poor job of flirting with the locals. All of them were just barely sixteen - there was no hiding their youth or inexperience.

After the first eight weeks of training were up, time was divided between patrolling the upper plate two sectors at a time, training in their specialties, sparring, and more lectures, with the occasional lessons in skills necessary for subterfuge - dancing, foreign languages, conversational skills to pry out information. By the end of academy they were expected to be in peak physical shape and able to recall any and every detail about the most important people running the Shinra Electric Power Company.

Tseng experienced a number of firsts during his two years at training. His first kiss was with Bomb, whom he shared a room with, one night after Bomb managed to sneak a bottle of vodka in past Veld and their other superiors. Tseng had known for a very long time how he felt about other men, but he had never met anyone he wanted to kiss…not really. Bomb was irritating on most days: loud, obnoxious, constantly acting out for attention, but he also flirted relentlessly with Tseng. At sixteen, Tseng didn’t quite know what to do with that attention. But when Bomb initiated the kiss, he found he liked it so much that he didn’t really care how annoying he found Bomb most of the time.

Next on his list of firsts was his first hangover, which came the night after his first kiss. That had been far less enjoyable, and Bomb had laughed at him for his intolerance.

He won his first fight breaking up a riot in Sector 1 with Katana’s help during patrols, earned his first scar when a Wutai sympathizer in a bar recognized his uniform and called him a traitor to his people before stabbing him in the shoulder, and earned his first accommodation when he managed to find and destroy scientific documents from Proefessor Hojo’s lab when an errant employee left them behind on a train. None of them had to speculate what happened to the employee: Veld made them watch his interrogation and subsequent execution.

The first time Tseng watched his superiors kill someone, he went back to his room with a sick stomach. They had been warned day one that part of a Turk’s job entailed taking care of people who had wronged Shinra by whatever means necessary. He knew logically that this meant he would have to kill someone one day, but the reality of watching the life flicker so quickly from someone’s eyes was unsettling. The others felt it too, and Veld addressed it during lectures:

“The best skill you can learn as a Turk is how to compartmentalize and forget your trauma. You’ll never make it if you hold every kill close to your heart.”

Tseng considered that advice thoughtfully over the next months and years. He knew how to compartmentalize just fine: growing up his parents had never been the type to pry too heavily into the emotional state of their children. In fact, they were so busy between work and raising seven children that bringing an emotional concern to them often earned them a harsh scolding. ‘Grow up. Learn to deal with it. You haven’t go it that bad.’

So, bit by bit, Tseng learned to divide himself into pieces: Human Tseng, who still felt emotions, who could still appreciate the beauty to be seen in the world; and Turk Tseng, who had a job to do and nothing else.

As the months turned to years and their final exams approached, Tseng found himself looking at a man he hardly recognized in the mirror. He had grown substantially in the last two years, as had his hair, which he kept tied back in ponytail most of the time. His father had always worn a ponytail: long hair was a sign of strength and virility in Wutai, or so his father told him. Hours of training every day added to the hard work of running patrols had filled in Tseng’s muscles as well. He arrived in Midgar a thin wisp of a boy and was all lithe muscle by the time he finished academy.

While the recruits were allowed access to some of Shinra’s secrets, the most classified data was off limits until they passed their exams. Tseng and his classmates speculated often as to what some of those secrets were. Plenty of rumors abounded about the SOLDIER program, about secret labs beneath the slums, innocent people being used as test subjects. More than anyone or anything else at Shinra, rumors swirled around the young SOLDIER prodigy Sephiroth, who was already a war hero at only fifteen. Logically, Tseng and his classmates knew some of those rumors must be true, but they wanted to know exactly which ones.

That had been another lesson from Veld.

“The longer you stay with Shinra, the more you’ll realize you don’t actually want to know the truth of it. A Turk should know only what’s necessary to do their job. Everything else is extraneous…you might not like what you find out.”

The week before final exams, and a week after Tseng’s eighteenth birthday, Bomb made a proposition while the four recruits were studying together in the private library in Turks' headquarters.

“We should have an orgy, you guys,” Bomb said, chewing on the end of his pen and frowning at the tablet screen in front of him. He was staring at a picture of General Heidegger.

Katana scoffed and scooted away from him. “Count me out.”

Rod went red and said nothing. Tseng too, could feel a heat creeping up his neck and ears. He stared with sudden interest at a paragraph about the president’s son, but he wasn’t retaining anything he read.

“Don’t act so above it all.” Bomb pointed an accusatory finger at Katana. “You’ve gotten around plenty since we started training.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She demanded.

“It means you’ve fucked someone every time we go out to a club!”

“And you haven’t?”

Bomb leaned back in his chair. “I mean, I did all right. Not as prolific as you.”

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“Can we just study, guys?” Rod muttered.

Tseng nodded in agreement. The line of conversation was uncomfortable for him because while all of his classmates had undergone that age-old rite of losing their virginity at some point in the last two years, Tseng had never had sex. He had at least kissed more people than just Bomb, but even after they had met their share of upper-crusters eager to tell everyone they slept with a Turk, Tseng just hadn’t gotten that far.

The truth was, he was nervous about it. What if he wasn’t any good? He spent an inordinate amount of time searching the internet for advice, but nothing replaced real-world experience. It felt stupid to be so hung up on it, but he wanted it to happen so he could say he’d done it and finally mark that particular ‘first’ off his list.

“H-how would an orgy even work?” Rod asked.

Rod was the only one of them that was straight.

Bomb gave him a withering look and held his hands up, forming an ‘O’ with the fingers of one hand and inserting the forefinger of his other hand into it repeatedly while he waggled his eyebrows. “I thought you said you’d had sex before?”

“I have,” Rod bristled. “I’ve just never done it with three other people at once. And with other guys…”

“A hole is a hole.”

“ _Real nice,_ Bomb,” Katana shot him a disgusted look.

“Look it was only a suggestion anyway. The offer always stands. I could show any of you a good time if you really wanted.” He leaned back in his chair and tapped idly on his tablet. “It’d be nice to blow off some steam before we have to shoot a guy’s brains out, you know?”

That too was weighing heavily on Tseng’s mind. The final exam consisted of four parts: a written test of everything they learned in their lectures, a demonstration that they had mastered the skill they chose to specialize in, obtaining information from a target, and ‘cleaning up loose ends’. These last two components of the exam went hand in hand: an interrogation followed by an execution. Those that couldn’t stomach it would be automatically failed and relocated to a different department.

“It’s easier for you,” said Rod. “You’ve actually killed people before.”

“Says who?”

“You blew up buildings!”

“Okay,” Bomb said, waving his hand dismissively, “But killing a few faceless Shinra goons isn’t the same as looking a guy dead in the eyes and shooting him.”

“Murder is murder, isn’t it?” Katana asked.

“Would Shinra call it murder? Or assassination?” Tseng asked in return.

“Now how did we get onto this shit topic?” Bomb huffed. “Let’s get back to that orgy idea…”

When the study session was over, Bomb and Tseng returned to their shared room. As Tseng was stowing his tablet and books in the locker by his bedside - a precaution they all took as Turks - Bomb sat on his bed looking Tseng up and down appraisingly.

“You ever think about that time we made out last year?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Tseng answered truthfully. He had a policy of honesty unless the mission called for deceit. In the company of a fellow Turk, a lie felt unnecessary.

“You want to finally turn in that V-card you’ve been carrying around, Fists?” Bomb asked it as casually as he might ask if Tseng wanted to study after training the next day. Tseng looked up from his locker and stared at him.

Bomb wasn’t even what Tseng would describe as exceptionally attractive. Tseng’s had a thing for blonde men with strong noses, fortunately or unfortunately. He wasn’t sure when or where he’d picked up that particular predilection, but he’d known that even before he came to Midgar. Bomb was lanky and awkward, with a shock of naturally red hair so bright it was practically orange, and a little button nose which Tseng found especially obnoxious for some reason.

Still, an attraction obviously existed between them because Tseng had quite enjoyed the kiss they shared, and thought about it more often than he cared to admit.

“You’re thinkin’ about it!” Bomb grinned.

“Is it so obvious I haven’t…?”

“No, but we’re trained to be observant right?” Bomb tapped the side of his head. “Look, I’ve got everything we need.”

Tseng had no doubt. Bomb wasn’t just blowing hot air when he boasted about his conquests. He liked men and women in equal turns and for wildly different reasons and Tseng had seen him leave the clubs they visited with more than one person on his arm before. In that respect, Bomb was either the best or worst possible person for Tseng to finally lose his virginity with. On the one hand, he had plenty of experience to know how bad Tseng was at it, but on the other hand, he could probably provide some much needed guidance.

And as much as he got on Tseng’s nerves, he did trust Bomb at the end of the day.

So without saying a word, he bridged the distance between them and kissed him. What resulted wasn’t good by any stretch of the word, but it certainly was a new experience. Bomb liked to be on the bottom with men, which was good because Tseng wasn’t particularly adept at relinquishing control in any given situation, but there were a lot of stumbling blocks before they even got that far. Tseng was remarkably nervous, which Bomb repeatedly and loudly said was funny considering how even-keeled Tseng tended to be in all other departments. This just made him more nervous and in turn, it took him far longer than it should have to maintain an erection. Then it was a lot of ‘no not like that’ or ‘no, too deep too fast, slow down would ya?’ all of which culminated in an orgasm that made Tseng feel very strange about the experience overall.

“Well, you’ll get better at it,” Bomb offered. And then they never discussed it again.

The week of the final exams, they were all separated and placed in separate offices. The first day, they took their written exams. They weren’t allowed to see each other when it was over, in fact they weren’t allowed to see each other at all until the end of the exam. Then, only those who passed would be seen to Veld’s office to choose their aliases.

Tseng felt confident about his scores for the written exam and had no issues in the exam with his martial arts master. He had taken to heart each move and exercise he had been taught, but he neither expected nor received any praise for it. If he had become proficient in his chosen skill, it was only the bare minimum expected of him as a Turk.

On the third day, the interrogation began.

Ahead of the exams, they had all been briefed on the detainees they were meant to interrogate. Tseng was unsurprised to find he had been assigned a Wutaian dissident who refused to speak to any of the Turks who had brought him in. It wasn’t that Veld or the other Turks couldn’t speak Wutaian - learning the language was an ongoing process for Turks given the long-running situation between Shinra and Wutai - but Tseng was fluent, and he recognized that in addition to looking the part, they were testing his own allegiance.

The interrogation rooms were on the floor above Turk headquarters, sometimes utilized by SOLDIER or the executives, but mostly the Turks’ purview. Veld led Tseng down a long hallway lined with doors and two-way glass, stopping before a door as nondescript as the others.

“Take a look through the glass and step inside when you’re ready,” Veld ordered.

Tseng stared at the man, strapped to a chair sitting under a harsh light, shouting obscenities in Wutaian. The most common turn of phrase he circled back to was ‘Fuck you, fascist pigs’.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Tseng stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“Oh, so they send me a race traitor to get what they want, huh?” He asked in Wutaian.

Tseng took a seat in front of the man and folded his hands in front of him on the table. “Speak your mind,” he spoke Wutaian as well.

“And they sent a child. Typical Shinra. What are you, fifteen?”

Tseng didn’t dignify that with a response. He fixed the man with a hard stare, and though he felt less than confident of his ability to intimidate given the fact that the man saw him as a child, he stuck to his guns.

“We know you stole supplies from a Shinra warehouse and distributed them to Wutai,” said Tseng. “All we need is your cooperation in telling us who gave you the access codes for the warehouse.”

“I’m not telling you shit, you fascist. You should be ashamed to call yourself Wutaian.” He spit at Tseng and Tseng flinched at the impact. Pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he wiped the spit away.

He could understand why this man felt the way he did, but Veld and the other Turks had been firm about empathy when it came time for an interrogation. Empathy and sympathy were useful skills on rare occasions, important to keep around for fellow Turks, but they should be locked away during an interrogation. Human Tseng could hold on to those emotions, Turk Tseng had no use for them.

“I’ve never stepped foot in Wutai, so don’t worry yourself,” Tseng said. “But for your sake, you should probably tell use who gave you the codes. This could all be over a lot sooner.”

“Go to hell!”

So that was how it was going to be.

Tseng stood up and stepped to the side of the man’s chair, turning it to face him and gripping his pinky fingers. “We’ll start slowly.” He wrenched the finger backward until it snapped and the man let out a howl of anguish. “That probably didn’t feel very good. Would you like to talk now?”

“I would die for Wutai.”

 _And you will_ , Tseng thought, but he didn’t give voice to it. Instead he snapped another finger, which only earned him more cursing. The most important part of an interrogation was to get the information. Veld had taught them that sometimes that meant quick, extreme pain and other times it meant drawn out less intense pain. In this case, Tseng was quickly surmising that the former might net him better results.

With the use of some tweezers stored in a drawer along the wall, he peeled the nail from one of the fingers he hadn’t yet broken, listening the entire time while the man shrieked in agony and begged him to stop. Tseng didn’t stop until he was done, dropping the bloody tweezers and the nail on the table.

“Anything you’d like to tell me?”

The man had his eyes squeezed shut, but he still muttered a curse at Tseng. “I won’t tell you shit, Turk scum. Long live Wutai!”

Tseng pulled his pistol from the holster at his waist and fired off a shot into the man’s kneecap, leaving behind a blood pulp in its wake. He screamed then and slumped forward, staring at his knee in abject horror. Tseng sat on the edge of the table and gripped the man’s hair at the base of his skull, yanking his head back to force him to meet his gaze.

“Who gave you the codes?”

He was thinking about it now. He was hurting badly enough to consider it.

“Just tell me,” Tseng continued. “Our doctors will come in and patch you up and then you can walk back out there, go into hiding if you need to. It’s that simple. You give us the name, and Shinra forgives you for what you’ve done. And if you don’t give us the information…” Tseng pressed his pistol against the man’s groin and said nothing more.

“It was Maeda!” The man yelled. “He runs a bar in Sector 5. He told me how to break into the warehouse. He’s been helping funnel money to Wutai for months. Please, just don’t-”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Tseng pressed the pistol between the man’s eyes and fired. Blood spattered against the wall and and against his shirt. Wiping his pistol down with his handkerchief, he placed it back in its holster and stepped back outside of the interrogation room, every ounce of his willpower focused on controlling the shaking in his limbs as he closed the door behind him.

“Excellent work, Martial Arts,” Veld said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Head down to my office and await the others.”

“Yes, sir.”

The last two years had taught Tseng a tremendous amount and erased what little naivety he brought with him to Midgar. Veld had prepared him to handle any possible scenario he might encounter as a Turk, but nothing truly prepared someone for taking a life. The worst part had been that he pulled the trigger with such ease. One minute, the man had hope that he might walk out of that room alive, and the next he was dead. Not just dead. Murdered.

It wasn’t until Tseng reached Veld’s office that he allowed himself to shake silently with dry sobs. He gave himself five minutes, no longer, then he took a deep breath and composed himself just in time for the door to fly open and Bomb to waltz in, grinning from ear to ear. He clearly had a different reaction to his first kill than Tseng had, but Tseng supposed it was because he had technically killed before.

“Looks like we passed, buddy,” he said, cuffing Tseng on the neck and sliding into the seat next to him. “You know what we should do? We should go out to celebrate after. Get drunk, get laid. Not with each other,” he added the last part quickly. “But you should give it a go with someone else to get some practice, huh?”

Sex was the last thing on Tseng’s mind at that moment. How could Bomb be so cavalier about this? Tseng knew there would be more - likely countless more - to add to his body count, but for now wasn’t it important to weigh the gravity of what they had done? Of course he was pleased he had passed the exam, but he wasn’t eager to go out and celebrate when doing so meant someone’s death.

“I might have to take a raincheck.”

“You think Rod and Katana will pass?”

As if in answer, the door opened again and Veld stepped inside. “Congratulations. You have both shown your mettle. You have what is required to be officially instated into the Department of Administrative Research. Unfortunately, your classmates were unable to succeed in some or all of their tasks. They have been reassigned to other departments.” He crossed the room and took a seat at his desk. The blood from Tseng’s kill was still spattered across his suit, the smell of gunpowder burning in his nostrils. “I must now ask you to choose the names you’ll take as aliases. After today, you will only be known by this name, so choose wisely. Bomb? Have you come up with a name?”

“Yeah, of course, sir,” Bomb said, framing his hands in front of his face. “I wanna go with ‘Legend’ because I’m so damn legendary, you know what I mean?”

Veld pursed his lips and stared at his computer screen, fingers hovering over his keyboard. “And you’re absolutely certain?”

“Hell yeah!” He shouted, quickly tacking on, “Uh, sir.”

Veld sighed and typed rapidly. “Alias: Legend. You’ll receive your new ID badge shortly. And you, Martial Arts?”

Tseng had been dwelling on it for some time. They suggested leaving your true identity behind, and it had been easy enough to do that. His parents didn’t write after he left Mideel, and while he knew it was most likely because of being drafted to the war, he didn’t write either. He had severed the ties long before he agreed to go along with Veld and become a Turk. But his family would always be part of who he was, and his father had imparted important values upon him. His surname was common in Southern Wutai. Choosing it wouldn’t give away anything about his identity that his appearance didn’t already betray.

So he chose his father’s surname. “Tseng, sir,” he said to Veld.

“Tseng. Very well.” He typed it up and nodded. “Both of you are dismissed. Tomorrow you may take the day off to celebrate. Monday morning you will receive your first assignments. Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Suhng, huh?” Legend asked once they were outside the office. “Where’d you pick that? Some Wutaian thing?”

“Better than Legend,” Tseng shrugged.

After that, the days blended into weeks as he was given new assignments. Some of them were exactly the sort of thrilling espionage he had imagined when he first joined the Turks, others were mundane detail assignments, but he always understood the gravity of the situation regardless. There was an enormous responsibility placed on the Turks’ shoulders: to protect the company, its people, and its secrets by any means necessary.

Some months after he had officially been declared Tseng the Turk, he took a trip down to the Wall Market on a day off. He had been there plenty of times in the last few months: an excellent source of intel, if nothing else. More than once he had gone to find company there, though he preferred the higher end bars on the upper plate. He had learned quite a bit since his first time with Legend.

But that wasn’t why he was there now. He was there to pay a visit to some men who had something of his. They weren’t hard to find, tucked away in a little hideout just east of Don Corneo’s vast estate, but they didn’t have what he wanted. Still, with enough coaxing, they pointed him in the right direction and Tseng made his way confidently up the steps to Don Corneo’s estate.

Two lackeys blocked his entrance, but stepped aside readily enough at the sight of his familiar uniform. He was not yet accustomed to the power that came with being a Turk, even more than two years after first donning the uniform. In his mind’s eye he was still the scrawny child who left Mideel with so little money to his name and naive hopes of a bright future. He felt certain about his future now, at least insofar as he knew who he would be working for until he breathed his last breath, but he still lacked the confidence his superiors had.

He faked that confidence as he stepped through the estate, up the stairs to the Don Corneo’s office. He had been briefed on him more than once during academy training. Don Corneo was an important informant and as such was allowed to continue his numerous illicit operations within Wall Market. The Turks turned a blind eye to all of his unsavory deeds in exchange for information. This meant that while he held the slums in a vice grip, the Don also feared Shinra and submitted to their requests.

His entire estate was decorated in gaudy approximations of Wutaian architecture and art: a shoddy reconstruction of the real thing. Tseng found it disgusting, found everything about Don Corneo disgusting, but he had come with a purpose.

He found the Don seated behind his desk: a squat, horrible little man with a single tuft of dyed blonde hair. He looked at Tseng with a glint of fear in his eyes, which he did his best to hide.

“Oh ho, to what do we owe the honor of a Turk’s visit?” He asked. “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

“You haven’t,” said Tseng. “But your men have.” He scanned the room, eyes darting to every tacky decoration until he landed on an ornate fountain pen with leviathan painted coiling around it. He leaned forward and plucked the pen from its spot on the desk and held it in his hand. “This is a beautiful piece. Authentic too. Where did you get it?”

The Don looked at it and shook his head. “My men procure all manner of Wutaian fineries for me.”

“Your men got it from a boy in the slums,” Tseng explained. “A boy who was trying to run a clinic to help people.”

“O-oh,” said the Don meekly. “Did you know him?”

“Yes.” Tseng placed the pen in his breast pocket. “I’ll be taking this.”

The Don nodded. “A fine payment to Shinra for their continued cooperation with my various operations.” Tseng turned around and headed for the door. “And the boy? Will you return it to him or…?”

Tseng answered him as he walked away:

“He’s dead now.”


	2. On Assignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to preface this chapter and the rest of this work with an enormous shout-out and thank you to the collective Tsengru hivemind on Twitter and Discord. Many of the ideas in this fic came from prolonged discussions about head canons both on twitter and discord and I am really grateful to all the amazing and talented minds in this fandom. Creation begets inspiration or something like that...anyway this fic is ultimately dedicated to you all.

On the morning of Rufus Shinra’s nineteenth birthday, his maid left a tray containing his breakfast at his bedroom door with a single envelope tucked beneath the plate. He carried the food into his room, examining the envelope as he set the tray down on the table by the window in the lounge and slid into the chair, draping a bare leg over the side of it as he did so. His name had been scrawled in an untidy script he immediately recognized as belonging to his father’s most recent secretary: another petite blonde.

Couldn’t even be bothered to write his own son’s birthday card.

Rufus tore the envelope open, but it wasn’t a card inside. It was a letter telling him to be ready by ten for a press conference in sector 3. With a scoff, he chucked the envelope and the letter into the fire and ate his food at a leisurely pace. By now, he hardly expected his father to remember his birthday or care about it at all - the presence of what he foolishly assumed was a card had been surprising, the fact that it was instead a demand for his appearance at some idiotic event was not.

He would go because he had to, but he would take his time about it and run a little late just to get under his father’s skin. Every moment of his life since he was old enough to realize what he wanted had been a delicate balancing act between ingratiating himself to his father enough to stay in the will and digging at him for all of his offenses against Rufus and his long-dead mother.

When ten o’clock rolled around Rufus was still wearing his housecoat, though he had at least showered. He knew exactly how much time he had before his father went from annoyed to infuriated and he would toe that line carefully. He preened himself in the mirror for a while until he heard the knock on the door.

“Who is it?” He called from the bathroom.

“Your escort, sir. Your father sent me to retrieve you and see you to Sector 3.” A man’s voice sounded on the other side of the door.

Rufus sauntered over to the door and threw it open, surprised to find a Turk standing stiff and awkward on the doormat. He didn’t recognize this one, and the Turks were at least one group small enough that he could usually keep them apart. Normally it was that self-righteous leader of theirs running detail for the President. Rufus gave him a quick appraisal as the Turk steadfastly avoided his gaze.

He was handsome - but most of the Turks were attractive enough - tall, with long black hair tied into a ponytail at the base of his skull. Scarlet often joked that being attractive was a job requirement for the Department of Administrative Research. 

“Do you have a name or are you one of the grunts running around with a stupid name like ‘Gun’?” Rufus asked, taking a step back to allow the Turk to enter.

“Tseng, sir.”

He still refused to meet Rufus’ gaze. Rufus glanced down at his housecoat, wide open with his chest and underwear on display, laughed loudly, shed the housecoat, and walked away to finish getting ready.

Tseng the Turk remained standing just inside the doorway with his hands behind his back and his shoulders squared looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“So is this what you dreamed of when you joined the Turks?” Rufus asked, thumbing through a dozen white suits for the one he wanted. “Babysitting the President and his son while he gives some bloated ego-stroking speech boasting about his virility and comparing Shinra Tower to a phallus in fewer words?”

“I’m just following orders, sir.”

Turks were so fucking annoying like that. That was their answer to everything. ‘Just following orders’. Obedient little lapdogs doing whatever Veld told them, who was in turn doing whatever the President demanded. They rubbed Rufus the wrong way, but maybe it was because wherever he went his entire life there seemed to be a black suit looming in the background watching over him. He understood the utility of a group like the Turks, but he would eradicate them when he was President - start over with new men who were loyal to _him_ , not his father.

“What if Veld ordered you to jump off the roof of Shinra Tower?”

He heard an exasperated sigh from the other room. “I can’t envision a scenario in which that would happen, sir.”

Rufus pulled his suit on and stood before the mirror fastening his tie. He glanced at the doorway and saw Tseng check his watch. 

“Am I keeping you?”

“The President asked that we be in Sector 3 by ten fifteen.”

“Well he’ll just have to wait until I’m ready.”

Tseng said nothing in response to this. Rufus wondered if there was a point at which Tseng would be forced to physically drag him down to the car - half of him wanted to find out - but he was done with his tie and there was nothing left to do except step out and follow the Turk outside.

“You know,” Rufus drawled as they stepped out into the hallway and headed for a car waiting at the front of the building, “It’s my birthday today.”

“Happy birthday, sir,” said Tseng. Rufus knew he was only doing so to be polite, but it felt nice to have at least one person say it to him, since he knew no one in Shinra’s upper circle would remember.

When they stepped outside, Tseng opened the back door of the car and Rufus stepped in. Tseng took a seat in the front seat next to the driver and they made their way toward Sector 3. Rufus attended these functions for two reasons: the first was that it was necessary to ingratiate himself to his father in order to take his eventual place as vice president, the second was that he felt it was important to observe his father’s method of running the company in preparation for his eventual takeover. All he had learned in his many years of observation was that he wanted to do the exact opposite of what his father did.

Press conferences like this were by and large a waste of time: a means of kissing up to the public to hide the atrocities that actually went on behind the walls of Shinra Tower. Rufus understood the pragmatic aspects of some degree of ass-kissing and facade. After all, from the moment he turned eighteen he had made sure his face showed up in every tabloid to mark him as a rich, spoiled playboy. If the public - and the other executives - saw him as nothing more than a brat blowing his father’s fortune on drugs and sex, they were less likely to view him as the threat he planned to be. 

As soon as he took power the game would be over though: no useless public appearances to smooth over Shinra’s image. For one thing, he would do away with half of the frivolous and ethically dubious programs his father had instated, but for another, the best way to rule was through fear. Not authoritarian iron-fist-type rule. The people would be taken care of insofar as it didn’t needlessly waste money. He recognized his father’s faults including his relative neglect of the slum-dwellers. But when push came to shove the answer wasn’t press conferences and political propaganda to make the public trust Shinra over Shinra’s enemies. The answer was to drag every last person out of their homes in the dead of the night until they gave up any dissidents, deal with the rot, and get back to business.

They would see. One day Rufus would be in charge and things would be different, better. Rufus would usher in a new era of prosperity.

And fuck his father’s gods damned Neo Midgar project. _That_ was the biggest joke of them all - early signs of senility in Rufus’ opinion.

The car came to a halt outside of a museum in Sector 3 surrounded by an enormous crowd. Tseng stepped out to open Rufus’ door, but Rufus swung it open on his own. “Did Veld spend years training you how to kill a man so you could sit around opening doors for people?” He barked, stepping past him and marching up the steps of the museum where his father and an entourage of security officers stood around a podium.

Tseng was nearly silent as he caught up with Rufus in a few long strides and walked a carefully measured two paces behind him, hands behind his back.

“Rufus,” his father scowled at him as they approached. “You’re late.”

“You know me, father,” Rufus replied, flipping his hair with a casual disinterest. “Always fashionably late. It looks like I didn’t miss anything anyway.”

“Just stand behind me, keep quiet, and smile for the cameras.”

Instead, Rufus put on the bored pout he reserved for public appearances. For as long as he could remember he had been in the public eye. When he was young it had been fluff pieces on the news and in magazines detailing President Shinra’s personal life as a ‘doting father’ and ‘loving husband’. When puberty hit Rufus like a freight train, it had been pieces picking apart the ‘ugly duckling’ President’s son like he wasn’t a human being with emotions and feelings that might be hurt by such words. As far as the press was concerned, he was nothing more than an iconic figure to tear apart or place on a pedestal as they saw fit. His awkward early teens coupled with his lavish lifestyle had formed the basis of his vanity, and he would readily admit he _was_ vain. When he finally grew into himself, started working out, began an eight-step skin care routine and styled his hair in a casually disheveled way, then all the magazines were stumbling over themselves to rave about his beauty. The fucking hypocrites. 

_That_ was when he realized he could use the press to his advantage. The moment he turned eighteen he made sure to make appearances at popular clubs with handsome men and beautiful women on his arm, flashing his pearly-whites at the cameras, visibly knocking back expensive drinks and snorting lines of gods-knew-what. It didn’t take him long to realize _actual_ benders put him in a state of mind he didn’t enjoy, so he began to fake it. And it built him the reputation as a rich party-going playboy that tricked even the executives into thinking he wasn’t a threat. _Plus it pissed off his father._ A win-win situation.

“Isn’t it a bit of a waste to have a Turk lurking around at an event like this?” Rufus asked, glancing backward where Tseng loomed behind him. “Surely Veld made the proper prior preparations for this.”

“There are a lot of people who don’t like us, Rufus,” his father chided, as though Rufus were not acutely aware of this blatantly obvious fact. Rufus gave him a withering look and folded his arms. “The war with Wutai is only emboldening our enemies. It’s best to have a stronger security presence.”

Rufus looked between Tseng and his father. “ _I see._ I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that this particular Turk looks Wutaian.”

His father stood stiff as a board in front of the podium, running the flat of his palm down his tie to smooth it as he cleared his throat. “I don’t like whatever it is you’re implying.”

He didn’t like what Rufus was implying because he was _right._ Having a Wutaian in the background of every shot looked good for Shinra. ‘How can you say we hate Wutaians with our senseless, wasteful war that started over a mako reactor? We hire Wutaians. Can’t you see how good relations are?’

“This man isn’t a prop,” Rufus complained.

“And what do you think about it, Turk?” The President demanded.

Tseng’s ears went red at the sudden attention. “I’m just here to do my job, sir.”

“Shiva’s tits, have a little self respect,” Rufus growled.

“Watch your mouth, Rufus.”

A tense silence followed. The museum curator arrived and exchanged a few words with Rufus’ father and then the microphone was turned on as his father began his speech. Shinra had donated the money necessary to open the museum…a museum detailing Shinra and Midgar’s history. The speech spent barely more than a minute on the museum itself before his father inevitably delved into the typical propaganda of Shinra’s strength and power, of the despicable monsters in Wutai waging this ‘senseless and avoidable war’, peppering in a little condescending sympathy that ‘we at Shinra know most Wutaians don’t agree with this war’, etc etc. It made Rufus want to gag. He frowned, brow furrowed, knowing that his face would wind up in every shot and in all the trashy magazines.

When the speech was over, Rufus found himself pulled against his father’s side while a meaty paw clamped down on his shoulder.

“Smile for the camera, boy.” His father said through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into Rufus’ shoulder so hard it hurt.

Rufus gave the barest smile, the cameras flashed, and his father released him. “If that will be all,” Rufus hissed, dusting his hand against his shoulder.

“You’re dismissed. I expect to see you at the next board meeting.”

“Of course, father.”

Privately, Rufus was infuriated that he was expected to attend board meetings with no promise that it would earn him the place he felt he deserved as vice president, but he knew attending the meetings was the perfect way to gain good standing with both his father and the other executives. So he sat in the corner of the board room at every meeting, a beautiful silent statue, absorbing every word and stowing it away for later use. Whenever his father finally granted him the standing he craved, _then_ he could challenge his idiotic ideas.

Tseng followed Rufus back to the car, back to his apartment in Sector 1, seeing him all the way up to the door.

“I don’t like the Turks,” Rufus said firmly as he stepped into the doorway. “I want to make that clear. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think it was right of my father to use you like that either.”

For perhaps the first time that day, Tseng met his gaze. “Thank you, sir.”

With that, Rufus slammed the door in his face. He had had his fill of both his father and his lapdogs for the day. He sat down on the couch in his sitting room, opened his laptop, and checked an encrypted e-mail he used to put out probes for anti-Shinra dissident groups. So far, he was just amassing information.

But he had plenty of plans for the future.

* * *

Tseng’s first impression of the President’s son had been a mixed one. For most of the morning, he had fit the bill perfectly of the obnoxious, spoiled playboy the press made him out to be. It had surprised him, then, when he stood up for Tseng at the press conference. Of course, it made Tseng uncomfortable to be caught in the middle of the conversation, and he wasn’t about to say ‘yes, I agree that the President - my boss - is using me as a prop to further his agenda’. The reprimand from Rufus about self-respect rubbed him the wrong way. What right did he have to give such advice?

It didn’t matter. Turks did sometimes provide security for the President and other executives, but it would not be a frequent endeavor. Tseng imagined direct interaction with the President and his son would be limited at best.

Almost as soon as he returned from his assignment, he received a message from Veld requesting his presence in his office for a new assignment. He arrived promptly, where he found Veld frowning at his computer and rubbing his brow. 

“Ah, Tseng. Good, take a seat.”

Tseng sat in the chair facing Veld’s desk, back straight, shoulders squared. “You have a new assignment for me, sir?”

“Yes, but it requires a bit of background information. You are aware of the President’s interest in the Neo Midgar project, correct?”

Tseng leaned forward, his curiosity sufficiently piqued. He and Legend had been briefed on the Neo Midgar project shortly after passing their final exams and he remembered the general idea. Shinra believed that there was a mythical promised land, foretold by the Ancients - the Cetra - that had communed with the planet eons ago. As the legend went, the promised land was where the flow of the lifestream was strongest, meaning a wealth of mako to be refined with the use of Shinra’s reactors. If Shinra could find the promised land, they could create a new, better Midgar with a seemingly limitless power supply.

Beyond that, the information on the project had been classified. Veld had access of course, but the access was strictly guarded. Tseng knew Hojo had something to do with it as well, but he had not been cleared to know more than that.

“I know what we were briefed on, sir,” Tseng answered.

Veld nodded and leaned back in his chair. His brow was still furrowed with concern.

“Some years ago, Shinra found what we believe to be the last remaining Ancient.”

“Sir?” Tseng almost laughed until he realized Veld was entirely seriously. “Sir, I thought they were extinct.”

“So did we. But there is no denying her blood. If you had known her in person, she had an incredible power. She could truly speak with the planet. You understand that this mission is extremely classified, don’t you, Tseng?”

“Of course, sir.”

“The ancient’s name was Ifalna. She was brought into the labs on the twentieth floor for experimentation. The President strongly believed she could lead us to the promised land, but the experiments proved fruitless. Hojo’s predecessor - Gast Faremis - grew a conscious over what was happening. He absconded with Ifalna. By all accounts they were in love,” Veld paused, closed his eyes, sighed, and continued. “They had a daughter. Gast was killed and Ifalna and her daughter were brought back. Hojo took over and was…overly aggressive in his methods. Ifalna escaped with her daughter four years ago, but she was gravely injured after suffering at Hojo’s hand for so long.”

Tseng listened with rapt attention.

“We brought her body back for Hojo to experiment on…something I often regret. But we never managed to find her daughter. It has been a key mission of mine for the last four years and we’ve managed to track her to a home in the Sector 5 slums.”

“Sir?”

“Hojo has made it clear - or I should say the President has made it clear to Hojo - that we need to approach Aerith…the daughter…with a gentler hand. He determined that his experiments with Ifalna taught him that cooperation is necessary if we hope to find the promised land. This will be a long standing mission for you, do you understand, Tseng?”

“What is it exactly that you want me to do, sir?”

“I want you to pay a visit to the home where Aerith lives and have a chat with her. She won’t want to come and we won’t force her. But we need to keep a close watch on her. Monthly check-ins. Her adoptive mother is a woman named Elmyra Gainsborough. I want you to have a chat with Mrs. Gainsborough - make it clear what our end-goal is and that running is not an option. Currently, we don’t have a time limit for this task.” Veld fixed him with an intense stare. “Take from that what you may. I trust you to exercise your expertise as a Turk in seeing this mission through.”

“You want me to babysit a little girl, sir?”

Veld chuckled. “You could look at it that way, I suppose. Tseng, I feel responsible for what happened to Ifalna. I don’t want the same fate to befall Aerith. Be gentle with her. Let her come to trust you. I do want to believe that a place like the promised land exists…that we might work together with this girl to find it. But we can’t repeat our past mistakes.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Most importantly, _do not_ speak with Hojo about this. The less he knows the better. He has never been easy to control and the President continues to throw money at him.”

Tseng nodded. “Of course, sir.”

“I’ll send you the information. Pay her a visit this afternoon and acquaint yourself with the area.”

Once Tseng had the information, he took a helicopter down below the plate, landing on a rarely used helipad in the middle of Sector 5 and orienting himself with the use of a map Veld had given him. His work brought him below the plate frequently, but he had never been to the Sector 5 slums before now. He imagined that a mission like this with no definitive end meant he would quickly grow familiar with the place.

In the three years since he first put on the black suit that marked him as a Turk, he had grown used to the stares he received below the plate. Grounders rightfully didn’t trust the Turks, and while most people gave him a wide berth as he passed, some grew confrontational and tried to stand their ground. He handled them without prejudice: the most effective method was a dislocation because it rarely did permanent damage and it always got the point across. Meatheads were the biggest culprits: they always thought they could take Tseng, but they never could.

Thankfully, this trip below the plate was uneventful. If looks could kill, Tseng would have been dead on arrival, but that was the worst he encountered.

The slums were all the same as far as Tseng was concerned. Only Sector 6 stood out because of the Wall Market, but otherwise it was a lot of poorly constructed huts and houses built with no discernible organization against the backdrop of dead earth and rocky outcroppings. Tseng wound his way through the sector, past vendors selling weapons and materia, past open-air restaurants selling food that made his stomach rumble, past a quaint orphanage with a garden being tended by a young woman and a group of eager children, until finally he found the path leading to Elmyra Gainsborough’s house.

The path was surrounded on either side by cliffs casting it in shadow, opening at one point into what must have been an old chocobo corral - long since abandoned - and terminating at an aging set of wooden steps that led down into a vast clearing that made Tseng stop dead in his tracks.

Tseng could not have imagined that anything below the plate might be described as beautiful, but that was the only word for what he saw before him. A small cottage sat nestled against the rocks, surrounded by a massive field of flowers of every shape and size and color, blanketing every inch of the ground except for where a foot path had been worn in the dirt. In the background, a crystalline waterfall flowed into a creek that ran through the flower field.

How was it even possible that life might grow from the dead soil, covered as it was by the massive metal plate above?

For a moment, if only that, Tseng’s emotional side took over and he marveled at the sight before him. But just as quickly, he snapped back into his Turk persona, moving down the steps with a rigid posture and coming to a halt in front of the door to the cottage. He knocked once and waited for an answer.

A woman in her late thirties answered the door, and though Tseng momentarily recognized a kindness to her face, it was quickly replaced with a look that radiated nothing but hatred. She knew exactly who Tseng was.

“Mrs. Gainsborough?”

“I have a pistol. I’m just letting you know right now, Turk.”

“Please,” Tseng pulled his pistol from its holster and emptied the clip as a gesture of good will. “There’s no need for us to get off on the wrong foot. I am merely here to check in on Aerith. Surely you knew this day might come eventually?”

“If you lay a finger on her, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.” She stepped inside, leaving the door open, and that was enough for Tseng. There was a mutual understanding now of what the expectations were. He could work with that.

The inside of the cottage was cozy and well-kept. He found Aerith seated at the table: a young girl - maybe ten or eleven - in a white frock with a pink bow tying her hair back and, much as he had taken pause at the flowers, Tseng felt the breath leave his lungs at the presence in the room.

There was no denying Veld had been telling the truth about her heritage.

At the sight of him, Aerith let out a shriek and ran to hide behind Elmyra, who held her hand, both of them fixing Tseng with a frown.

“Mom, don’t let him take me away,” Aerith whispered.

“I won’t, baby. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not here to take you away, Aerith,” Tseng promised. He had never been good with children, so he simply opted to pretend she was like a tiny adult. He held his arms behind his back and stared down at her. “I am merely here to check in on you. You know that you’re a very special girl, don’t you?”

“I’m _NOT_!” She protested.

“Aerith, baby, go upstairs and play in your room and let mommy talk to the Turk, okay?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him, mom.”

“I’ll be okay.” Elmyra leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”

Aerith glared at Tseng, but seemed to accept that her mother was somehow capable of handling a Turk. She slunk away up the stairs, never taking her eyes off of Tseng until she was out of sight.

“Let’s get something straight,” Elmyra said as soon as she was gone. “She told me about what you people did to her and her mother. I saw her mother’s injuries with my own eyes. If you think for even a single _fucking_ second that I’ll let you-”  
  
“Mrs. Gainsbourough, please,” Tseng held a hand up to silence her. The side of him that wasn’t there to do his job felt for the woman. According to her file, her husband had been killed recently in the war. Aerith was all she had. “As I said before, I’m not here to take her. My superior has made it clear that Aerith’s cooperation is necessary for my mission to be successful. Taking her by force is a failure.”

Elmyra did not relax. “So, you’re here to intimidate us, is that it?”

“I’m here to establish a relationship with you. Starting today, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. You have my word that no harm will come to Aerith.”

“The word of a Turk is less than worthless,” she spat.

“Be that as it may, what choice do you have in the matter?” Tseng asked. There was nowhere Shinra wouldn’t be able to find her, nowhere that she could hide if she truly did want to run. “This isn’t a warning. My job is to make sure Aerith stays safe. There are plenty of people with even worse motivations than Shinra who might try to take her if they learn about her remarkable origin. But you already know that, don’t you?”

They stared at each other for several seconds, Elmyra’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. She slid into a seat at the kitchen table, but didn’t take her eyes off of Tseng.

“Shinra is _protecting_ her?” She scoffed.

“One day, she will have to come with us, to assist us in finding the promised land. Until then, Shinra wants to ensure her safety and comfort. It would go better for you if you comply.”

“You can check in,” Elmyra said. “But you don’t step foot in this house with a loaded gun. And if I turn you away, you listen to me. Do you understand?”

There was a time and place for violence, and this wasn’t it. If she tried to attack him, he would incapacitate her, but otherwise Tseng saw no problem with her terms. If they made her feel better about the situation, so be it. Earning her trust, or some semblance of it, could be useful.

“If those are your terms.”

“They are,” she said.

“Very well. Take care. If you have concerns about her safety,” he fished a card from his breast pocket. It was a general line that would allow her to get in contact with him. “You can call this number.” When she refused to take it, he set it on the table.

“Do you have a name I should know?” she asked as Tseng turned back toward the door.

“My name is Tseng. I have a feeling we’ll get to know each other quite well, Mrs. Gainsborough.”

She glowered at him and picked the card up off the table, ripping it in two. “Get the fuck out of my house, Tseng.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of a very...very...............very long slow burn begins. Also as you will probably see many many times throughout this fic, I don't particularly love Square's treatment of its female characters. I think Elmyra is probably a lot more badass than we get to see. Like there's no way this woman doesn't know how to shoot a gun living in the slums with a kid to protect. I just think the beauty of fic writing is being able to flesh out characters who are otherwise somewhat two dimensional due to time constraints/bad writing/whatever.
> 
> I'm going to try to keep to a posting schedule of every two weeks. Thanks for reading!!


	3. New Blood

Before Reno was _Reno_ he was known affectionately by the citizens of Wall Market as Red. Or, well…sometimes it was affectionate, but if Reno was being honest usually it was being shouted at him while someone (or several someones) chased after him with various weapons, brooms, mops, the occasional pitchfork. He had spent his entire life roaming the streets of Wall Market, treating the red-light district like his own personal playground and playing fast and loose with the rules in the process. So what if he stole to keep his belly full or put a little change in his pocket? That was how the slums worked and nobody was dying from losing a few measly gil.

Reno didn’t remember being born. Well, okay nobody remembered being _born_ , but that is to say he didn’t remember who the fuck left him in a dumpster behind old man Kaneko’s greasy spoon diner, but the only reason he hadn’t died in there buried beneath a layer of rotting garbage bags was because he had been a loudmouth from day one. Mr. Kaneko found him wailing in the trash and took pity on him, taking care of him for a few days while he and his line cook tried to find Reno’s parents.

The joke was on them because whatever sorry piece of shit gave birth to Reno in a stinking alley in Wall Market and then left him to die was long gone and if Reno had to speculate - which he did often later in life - whoever shot his wad to make that mistake in the first place had left immediately after and didn’t even know Reno existed. With no one to claim him, Mr. Kaneko planned on taking Reno to an orphanage in Sector 5, but a Madam who ran one of the many brothels on the east end of the market thought the little wailing ginger baby was cute and took him in.

That too, only lasted so long. Weird, but a toddler crawling around the halls of a brothel wasn’t great for business and while Madam S had grown attached to little baby Red, she gave him over to one of the Don’s chocobo handlers, who didn’t mind so much having a curious kid underfoot while he tended to the birds. Reno stayed with the chocobo handlers, never quite loved, but at least tolerated, until he was old enough to venture around the market on his own: maybe five or six if he remembered right. 

After that he took up with a gang of local street urchins and worked his way up the ranks because he could put up a decent fight and he was fast enough to outrun the kids he couldn’t overpower. He never went back to adult supervision once he left the chocobo handlers and for the rest of his life, he raised himself. The group of orphans Reno called himself the king of were a solid support system when they were all hungry and in need of some food, but at the end of the day he only had himself to trust or rely on. The group broke apart into factions often, forming and reforming as the complex politics of a child’s world gave way to teenage drama. Everybody in Wall Market, and really the world, was only looking out for number one when all was said and done.

When he was a kid, it was easy to put on a cute face and beg for scraps, but as a gangly teen with a loud mouth, fewer and fewer people took pity on Reno. For a while he tried earning an honest living, working as a janitor for Mr. Kaneko, but he wasn’t cut out for such boring work and he was never doing it quite to Mr. K’s satisfaction, so he quit. Or he was fired. He couldn’t quite remember.

At any rate, thievery seemed to be Reno’s best means of surviving, and he was good at it so he stuck with it. Thanks in part to his lithe frame and long limbs, coupled with a childhood spent climbing every surface he could get his hands on, Reno excelled at scaling walls and fences alike. He spent most of his time on rooftops scoping out his next hit or avoiding whoever he had pissed off most recently. He learned how to read people, watching them mill about and engage in questionable affairs from his perch, and he used that ability to choose who he felt might be most deserving of a little pocket-lightening. Usually, he picked the rich jerks coming down from the upper plate to cheat on their wives at the Honeybee Inn. Or the Don’s lackeys. They deserved it the most.

Reno often paid visits to Madam S’s parlor. Madam S had always been kind to him, even after she had to ditch him. She gave him her homemade walnut pie whenever he visited and her girls always doted on him as a kid. Sometimes she would let him take stuff the guests left behind and he could usually turn a good profit on it - in addition to being a decent thief, Reno acted as his own fence, always finding a buyer for even the most questionable items. Madam S died when he was fourteen, which is to say she crossed the wrong lackey and the Don had her dealt with, and after that Madam M took over. She was young, for a Madam at least, and she fell in line with what the Don wanted, but she was still nice to Reno and that counted for something.

When he was sixteen, Reno put down the requisite payment and rid himself of his virginity with one of the girls at Madam M’s parlor and he liked it so much that he went back three more times in the same week. But that kind of gil wasn’t something he could afford to throw around, so he figured out how flirt, and then he tried it with men and found he liked that too. So in between self-assigned jobs to earn himself a little gil at someone else’s expense, Reno spent his time in bars and clubs and went home with whoever he liked the best that night, eager to try anything and everything so long as it felt good.

At eighteen, Reno felt he could spend the rest of his life leaping across the rooftops of the Wall Market making money through petty theft and he would be just fine, but he still liked a little thrill outside of the bedroom now and then. At first that meant picking fights he knew he likely wouldn’t win, but he wasn’t stupid and that was a disaster waiting to happen. So instead, he set his sights on spying.

If there was one commodity worth its weight in gold in the Wall Market - and Midgar at large - it was information. Reno’s education was ramshackle at best, but Madam S had taught him what she could and while he may not have been booksmart, he had learned a hell of a lot about the ways of the world growing up like he did. Wall Market was sometimes referred to as little Wutai and indeed, since the war started five years earlier, refugees had flooded to the only place in Midgar guaranteed to take them in. Reno wasn’t exactly fluent in Wutaian, but he knew enough to carry a conversation and he could understand almost all of it when someone was speaking it. This was how he picked up tidbits, perched on rooftops eavesdropping on people, then passed it along to whoever he thought might be willing to pay the most for it.

Despite the way things looked, Reno considered himself upstanding, even if he was standing just a little crooked. It wasn’t like he was just stealing to make himself richer. He only took what he needed and if he had a few extra gil at the end of the week he’d haggle with Mr. Kaneko for some scraps to feed to the orphans. It was kind of depressing, watching new kids take up the same way of life he’d lived, but there would always be low lives dumping their kids in the slums. If they didn’t have to work quite as hard to get a meal, if they might go to bed with a little food in their stomach, Reno didn’t mind sparing the change.

For a while, his motivations _had_ been mostly selfish, but the longer he spent spying on people and targeting the Don’s lackeys, the more he realized turning a blind eye to the perpetual rot in Wall Market wasn’t a solution either. He wasn’t naive and never had been. Everybody knew what the fuck Don Corneo did up in his gaudy little gilded palace overlooking the market. And plenty of seemingly good people helped him so that they could cozy up and not become a victim. Girls went to work at the Honeybee Inn where they knew they might be treated well only for the Don to take a shining to them, at which point Rhodea was only all too happy to pony up whatever the Don wanted.

It was fucking disgusting was what it was. 

One fight Reno would always pick even if he knew it was a lost cause was stepping in when some asshole with an inferiority complex tried to take what wasn’t his from a defenseless girl. He’d had more than a few shiners from those kinds of run-ins, but the girls always got away, so it had been worth it, really.

Seated on a roof looking on at the Don’s estate one day he thought to himself, why the fuck didn’t he try to do the same for the poor girls that got dragged into that glittering piece of shit? Some of them went willingly, but he guaranteed they didn’t stay of their own free will. It was heavily guarded, but no one was patrolling the rooftops and he was fast and quiet.

So he snuck in and wandered around in the dead of night, memorized the floorplan, snuck back out and returned a few days later. It took him a while to find the hidden door in the wall panel in the room on the west wing of the estate, then he found the sick little sex dungeon where the Don kept girls locked up and drugged until he was ready for them. Reno had known how to pick a lock since he was seven, so he set the girls free and helped them escape through the little route he’d made for himself, slowed somewhat by their inability to climb quite as well as he could.

It felt good doing shit like that so he went back and did it again. And again. Until the Don finally realized what the hell was up and sent his goons after him. Then Reno had to sleep on the rooftops to avoid being caught, but he knew he was in a bad way if they ever found him.

Adding to his problems, about a week after the Don’s men started hunting him, a fucking Turk showed up.

If he was trying to be discreet - which like…wasn’t that his fucking job? - he was doing it poorly. Reno first spotted him skulking around the market talking to Madam M. He was a tall and brooding type, Wutaian, with his hair tied back in a ponytail and a severe face fitting of a Turk. The guy was icy as hell, but damn if Reno wouldn’t have fucked him in a second - if he weren’t a Turk anyway. Reno might have put his nose in a lot of places it didn’t belong but he was sure as hell not going to fuck around with the Turks. That was a guaranteed ticket to a shiny Shinra prison cell…or worse.

Still, he sat and listened while the Turk and Madam M chatted in Wutaian.

“I’m looking for a redhead with a long ponytail,” the Turk said. “Don Corneo’s men describe him as thin and lanky.”

What, so the Don had gone crying to Shinra about it? Shiva’s fucking tits, what a cunt.

“Sounds like Red,” Madam M replied. She took the Turk’s gloved hand and turned it over in hers. “Would you mind letting me see your hands without these gloves on?”

The Turk jerked his hand away and frowned. “Yes. I would. Thank you for your time.” And then he was gone.

He showed up the next two days in a row asking around, and Reno thought he must be a pretty shit spy waltzing around in that suit, which was just a giant gleaming sign saying ‘Hey I work for Shinra!’ Reno watched him every time he passed through, listened in on his conversations and staying out of sight. All he knew was the Turk was looking for him and he wasn’t getting caught with his ass out, that was for sure.

The fourth day, the Turk was tailing him. He was surprised to catch sight of him out of the corner of his eye on a nearby rooftop. He was hidden, but Reno still spotted him.

Well if that was how this dickrag was gonna play it, fine. Reno knew a good spot to lure him to and while he knew he wasn’t exactly expertly trained to take on a Turk, he thought he stood a decent chance if he could corner him. So he leaped across the rooftops, always stopping to make sure the Turk was following, winding his way across the market until he dropped into a dead-end alley and whipped around with a knife in hand. It was just a pocket knife, but it could cut open a man’s throat if push came to shove, and it was all he had.

The Turk landed right after he did, standing and brushing the dirt from his pants, unperturbed by the knife pointed at him.

“All right, suit, let’s get a few things straight,” Reno hissed.

“Certainly,” the Turk answered. He stood so still he didn’t look real and Reno lost some of his nerve.

“You’re a shit spy, you know that? I knew you were tailing me this whole time.”

The Turk chuckled. “Consider that perhaps I wanted you to know.”

This made Reno falter. “Well what the fuck gives then? You want to take me and lock me up in a cell you’ll have to fight me.” And without waiting for a response, Reno launched himself at the Turk with a wordless battle cry.

It was over in the blink of an eye. The Turk caught Reno’s wrist in a tight grip, wrenched until his shoulder came loose from its socket with a painful _pop_ and then Reno was on the ground, stars in his eyes, shoulder aching, with the Turk’s foot on his chest.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Ugh…” Reno groaned.

“I’m not here to lock you up in a cell.” Not once had the Turk lost his cool. His voice was calm and even as he looked down at Reno.   
“We received word that a lanky redhead with a loud mouth had been causing trouble around the Wall Market. Namely, kidnapping women from Don Corneo’s estate.”

“Kidnapping?” Reno balked. “That’s fucking rich.”

“The Don’s words, not mine. Needless to say your antics gained our attention. I have been purposefully visibly tailing you for days, but prior to that I had been watching you for the last week. Your skills are impressive. We’d like you to consider training to be a Turk.”

Reno stared at him with his mouth agape. “Come again?”

“You can take or leave the offer, but there are a lot of angry people eager to see you dead. Shinra could protect you.”

“You want _me_ to be a _Turk_?” 

The Turk slid his foot off of Reno’s chest and took a step back. Reno sat up, his shoulder dangling painfully and the Turk bent down, gripped his arm, and shoved it back into place. 

“Shiva’s tits, man warn a guy first.”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait long for your answer.”

Reno didn’t mull it over very long. Anyone on the Don’s shit list disappeared eventually. And anyway if he didn’t hack it with the Turks, well, he could always try something different. He knew the old rumor that a Turk never left Shinra willingly, but if anyone could he thought he could probably pull it off. 

“Yeah okay.”

“Very good. My name is Tseng,” the Turk said, offering his hand to help Reno up. Reno didn’t take it. He hopped up and stared at the Turk.

“I’m-”

“It doesn’t matter who you are. We already know everything there is to know about you. Now please follow me. There’s a helicopter waiting in Sector 5.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, boss man.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Ah man, is this gonna be a thing where I’ve got to listen to orders? Cause that might be hard for me…”

As they walked through the market and across to Sector 5, Reno didn’t shut up, and he was more than a little pleased when, as they climbed into the waiting helicopter, he heard the ever-professional Turk heave an exasperated sigh.

* * *

Working as a bouncer at an upper plate club was, for the most part, easy work. Until it wasn’t. Rude, or Andre Rodriguez, as he was known before he was _Rude_ had never had to work below the plate, but he had seen the kind of shit the bouncers put up with down there and overall the brawls topside were a lot less frequent. But when they did break out, they tended to get violent fast. Rich kids always had fancy guns and knives bought for them by their rich parents to take the place of age-appropriate entertainment like a college education, for instance. Rude had been stabbed more than once, but he was a big guy and if he couldn’t keep them from outright injuring him, he could almost always deflect so they didn’t hit a vital organ or major artery.

The pay wasn’t fantastic, but it could have been worse. It paid the bills at least and that was really what mattered at the end of the day. Rude didn’t love the hours either, living like a vampire working all night and sleeping all day. Still, Rude knew his strengths, chiefly of the brute variety. He had worked security jobs before becoming a bouncer and he definitely preferred standing outside of a club pissing off spoiled rich kids to staring at a security monitor for hours at a time.

Nothing pissed the rich kids off quite like being told no, so it quickly became Rude’s favorite word. ‘No, I don’t care how much gil you have, we’re at capacity.’ ‘No, I don’t care that your dad runs the biggest movie studio in Midgar, you’ll wait your turn.’ Rude got a rush just thinking about telling those assholes ‘no’.

Of course, grounders would have probably called Rude a rich asshole if they met him. After all, he had grown up topside in a modest home with a comfortable middle-class family. He had never really struggled in his life. But he’d never been rich either and for the most part his parents lived paycheck to paycheck. His unique position meant he had seen the wealthy assholes of the upper plate throwing their money around up close and personal without ever benefiting from the same wealth.

Now, at twenty, Rude was working a job that paid enough to stay topside, saving up the money he needed to go to school, or at least that’s what he told himself. The truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, but he figured working for a few years was a better solution than throwing money at a problem he hadn’t solved. So he stood outside an expensive, popular club and told rich kids ‘no’ for the first time in their lives and, by and large, he led a pretty decent life.

Until Rufus Shinra showed up.

Rude had seen his share of famous socialites while working this particular club. He wasn’t easily swayed or impressed by fame, by any means, which was probably good since a lot of them tried to use their fame to their advantage. Rude’s favorite game was to pretend he’d never heard of them, even some of the most famous actors and musicians in the world, and watch their faces fall as they refused to believe him. In the end, they still didn’t get in until they waited their turn.

The more famous the party-goer, the more ridiculous their entourage, until Rude was sure he had seen every ridiculous assortment of paid-for friends and security details imaginable. Then one evening, just after midnight, a group approached that blew them all away. 

First in line was a Turk, flanked on either side by Shinra security officers, followed by a gaggle of drunk idiots all surrounding a man in a white suit that Rude immediately realized was Rufus Shinra, the President’s son, _the most famous face on Gaia_. The entire line turned to stare at the approaching whirlwind of people, whispers rippling up and down the line. ‘Is that…?’ ‘Wow, he’s even hotter in person.’ ‘Holy shit, Rufus Shinra.’ And so on.

The Turk came to a halt at the front of the line, recognizable at once thanks to his distinctive sleek black suit. He was a stern-looking man, and Rude suspected he was not at all pleased with that night’s assignment.

“These security officers need to step into the club and inspect it,” he said.

“Is this, uh…typical?” Rude asked.

“No,” the Turk answered, pursing his lips. “A special request from the President.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Rufus Shinra appeared suddenly next to the Turk, visibly inebriated. “This is ridiculous. I’ve been to this club a thousand fucking times. _Tseng_. Go home.”

“I'm simply following orders, sir,” Tseng the Turk sighed.

“The officers can inspect the club if they want, but he’ll have to wait in line like everyone else,” Rude said. 

He had seen enough of Rufus Shinra’s face plastered all over magazines to dislike him just based on the persona he projected. Rufus’ face fell at this, though Tseng seemed to smirk, if only for a moment.

“Wait in line?” Rufus bellowed. “Listen here, you stupid bald-”

“Sir,” Tseng said without conviction.

“I don’t know where you get off thinking you can tell _me_ what to do,” Rufus slurred, ‘But I am the _heir_ to the Shinra fortune and-” He kept going, teetering on his feet until Tseng grabbed his arm to keep him from falling over. Rude listened stoic and stone-faced to Rufus’ increasingly belligerent speech about how he owned the ground the bar was built on and so on and so on.

“Are you done?” Rude asked.

“Excuse me?” Rufus balked.

“You need to go to the back of the line, sir.” Internally, Rude was ecstatic. This was the best night of his life. He got to tell Rufus Shinra to take his place in line with the rest of the ‘commoners’. _Here’s one place your money can’t buy you entry, you rich sack of crap_. In truth, if his boss knew he was holding up a man who could close them down if he wanted to, he would probably get fired, but it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Tseng,” said Rufus, smacking Tseng’s arm. “Tell him to let me in.”

“Sir, I’m just here to make sure no one tries to kill you.”

“I’m going to fucking kill my father for doing this.”

“Perhaps he was trying to send you a message, sir,” Tseng suggested.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.”

Tseng placed a firm grip on Rufus’ elbow. “Let me lead you to the back of the line, sir.”

“Don’t touch me,” Rufus wrenched his arm away. “Fucking lapdog doing whatever my father tells you.” He swayed and again Tseng had to grab him to keep him from falling over. “I said don’t touch me!”

“Very well, sir.” Tseng released him and he nearly fell over, stumbling forward against one of the security officers.

He righted himself and jabbed a finger against Rude’s chest. Rude looked down at his finger with a frown. “Let me in you ugly bald meathead. I could have this place closed down tomorrow if you don’t do what I ask!”

“Sir, I have to ask you to take your hand off of me,” Rude replied coolly. Secretly, he was just _hoping_ Rufus would keep pushing it. He would love to have an excuse to punch the richest, most spoiled asshole in Midgar.

“ _You_ don’t get to tell _me_ what to do,” Rufus attempted to yell, but it turned into an unattractive belch. He stumbled, righted himself, and then threw a punch in Rude’s direction.

The consequences were swift and immediate. Rude put Rufus in a chokehold, his face quickly going red as he clawed at Rude’s arms. Tseng waited a beat, just long enough that Rude noticed but not so long that it drew suspicion from the guards, then he was on Rude, prying him off of Rufus with a skill Rude hadn’t quite been expecting.

Everybody in Midgar knew what the Turks were capable of, and Tseng didn’t exactly look like a weak man, but Rude was broad-shouldered and well muscled, in addition to having a few inches on the Turk. He was certain he could handle himself against him, but he had his ass summarily handed to him in a matter of seconds. Tseng’s actions were swift and deliberate, pulling him off of Rufus, kicking his legs out from under him, and wrenching his arms behind his back as he pressed his face against the cool stone pavement. By now the entire crowd was in an uproar.

Rufus took a moment to get over a coughing fit as he caught his breath, then he stumbled forward, leaned against the side of the building, and puked all over the pavement.

“Are you alright, sir?” Tseng asked, still holding Rude firmly against the ground.

“Fuck off,” he replied. “Lock that idiot up.”

The commotion had drawn Rude’s supervisor outside.

“Rodriguez, what the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

“Your employee attempted to assault Mr. Shinra,” Tseng explained. “I’m afraid we’ll have to detain him at headquarters.”

Rude’s boss looked back and forth between the Turk holding Rude against the pavement and Rufus Shinra standing next to a puddle of his own sick.

“What the fuck? What were you thinking?”

“He was drunk and belligerent, sir,” Rude attempted to say with some difficulty considering his face was mashed against the pavement.

“You’re fired, Rodriguez!”

Currently, that seemed like the least of Rude’s problems.

Tseng forced Rude to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back. Turning to the security officers, he said, “Take him up to headquarters and put him in a cell. I have to make sure the president’s son makes it back to his apartment.”

“Yes, sir!”

As the security officers obediently grabbed Rude and shoved him along past the line of onlookers outside the club, he heard Rufus arguing with Tseng before vomiting again. Then Rude was being shoved into a sleek black car a few blocks south of the club where he sat in silence in the back seat as they made their way to Sector 0.

Could they kill him for assaulting the president’s son? Legally, probably not, but with the Turks involved laws weren’t really at play anymore. What had he been thinking? He had reacted as he would with any rowdy customer trying to push their way in, and until now even the richest jerks had been forced to put up with his rules, but Rufus Shinra was not just any rich jerk. Rude had crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed.

It almost felt worth it for the infuriated look on Rufus’ face.

Rude had never been inside of Shinra Tower before, but it was as shiny and polished inside as he expected: grand architecture and expensive decorations greeting them in the lobby, a floor display of the latest and greatest Shinra vehicles and gadgets, then they were in the elevator heading…down?

The security officers led him down a nondescript windowless hallway, wrenched open one of many doors lining the hallway, and threw him into a tiny cell with a single cot in the corner, leaving his cuffs on and locking the door behind him. Rude took a seat on the cot and awaited what he was certain would be his untimely death at the hands of a Turk following unjust orders.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

It must have been hours before the door finally opened again and Tseng the Turk stepped inside, the front of his suit soiled with specks of vomit, his previously neatly slicked back ponytail disheveled, with flyaway hairs poking out here and there. He stood before Rude with a completely emotionless face.

“Are you here to kill me?” Rude asked.

To his surprise, the Turk laughed. “No. The President is unaware of the altercation and I have a strong suspicion that Rufus Shinra’s pride will keep him from telling anyone about it. I’ve dealt with any video evidence, so you don’t need to worry about that either.”

“So…you’re just going to let me go?”

“Not quite. What you did is technically a punishable offense by Shinra’s standards. Your options are limited. You can spend a few months in this cell, go to a rigged trial where the jury will find you guilty and give you a minimum of three years time for the crime of putting Rufus Shinra in his place while he was drunk and belligerent, spend a few years in Midgar Correctional Facility. Or-”

“Or?” Rude raised his eyebrows.

“Or…you can take my offer to attend two years of academy to become a Turk.”

Rude stared at him for a few seconds. “A Turk? Aren’t you guys like spies and assassins?”

“And babysitters, occasionally,” Tseng’s lips twitched into a smile. Rude honestly felt like he was hallucinating the entire conversation. “I implore you to consider your alternatives,” Tseng added.

“Well, sure. I guess I’d rather be a Turk than go to jail. But what about my family and-”

“Two years are ours,” Tseng interrupted him. “After that, the decision of what to do with your past is yours. They can know you work for Shinra, but not what you do. The strong recommendation is to cut all ties. It’s safer that way.”

Three or more years in prison or he could become a Turk. He had been grasping at straws for months trying to decide what he wanted to do with his future. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

“Okay,” Rude nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”

Tseng uncuffed him and led him out of the cell, up a few floors to another nondescript hallway and into what looked like a shabby hotel room.

“You’ll sleep here tonight. One of us will fetch you in the morning to brief you on the next steps.”

He left without another word and Rude took a seat on the flimsy bed. Maybe when he woke up it would all be a dream, though he was fairly certain as surreal as it was, he was indeed anchored in reality at that moment. He supposed, if nothing else, it would make a good story one day.

It certainly had been one hell of a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note I guess which is that I realize some people might not agree with my referring to the Turks by their Turk names before they've chosen them, but I think it's easier than them having several different names, and it's only for a few chapters. My not-so-secret confession is I really really love writing Reno and I'm excited to explore his and Rude's dynamic through this fic. I've never really written RenoRude before but I enjoy the ship a lot and I think it will be a fun. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading. I hope you're enjoying the fic so far and I'll have the next chapter up in 2 weeks.


	4. How to Be a Turk

For the first time since academy, Tseng sat in Veld’s office awaiting a reprimand. He had been sent on a mission to investigate the kidnapping of a security officer who worked a mako reactor on the western continent. A few days of gathering intel had pointed him to Costa del Sol, where he found the security officer in question tied up in an empty room on a ship docked at the harbor. The ship, he found out from the security officer, was being operated by a group of anti-Shinra dissidents who were stockpiling Shinra weapons to use in their campaign, and to reverse engineer so they could mass assemble more of them.

For a moment, he had considered investigating further. Protecting Shinra secrets and assets was his number one job as a Turk, after all, but the security officer was in bad shape after days of torture at the hands of the dissidents and Tseng had no clue how many might be on board. He should have investigated, or sunk the ship, or both. Instead, he carried the security officer out and brought him back to Midgar for medical treatment.

Two days later, when he finished filing his report on the mission to Veld, he was called into his office for a discussion.

Now he waited for Veld to arrive, seated stiff and uncomfortable in the chair in front of Veld’s desk, heart pounding in his ears. When the door opened, Tseng tensed and tilted his head to acknowledge Veld’s arrival.

“Oh, good. You’re here. Do you know why I asked you to come today, Tseng?” Veld asked, taking a seat behind his desk..

“I have a few guesses, sir.”

“Your mission in Costa del Sol.”

“Right.” Tseng stared straight ahead at Veld unflinchingly, but internally he felt like he was dying. Nothing was worse than a reprimand from the one person he respected the most.

“Your heart was in the right place saving that security officer, Tseng. But heart is not what the Turks are known for and we aren’t in the business of compassion. I know where it was coming from. Deep down inside of you there’s still that boy trying to help heal people down in the slums, but that’s not what your mission is as a Turk.”

“But sir,” Tseng said, “my mission was to find the security officer.”

Veld leaned back in his chair and fixed him with an inscrutable expression that at once made Tseng want to shrink down and hide away. But of course he didn’t. He stared back, genuinely nonplussed for a moment. Yes, logically he knew he should have investigated the claims of the weapons cache, but his mission had specifically been to find the security officer. He had done just that.

“You are an excellent field agent, Tseng. In fact, you’re one of the best recruits in recent memory. Your work is meticulous, you always net results, you have handled the Ancient situation with utmost care, and you’ve brought in two promising new recruits. But you have a problem with thinking outside of the box when you’re given a specific assignment.”

“Sir?”

“You don’t really understand what it means to be a Turk, do you?”

“Protecting Shinra and its assets-”

“Yes,” Veld cut him off. “But that also means weighing the value of those assets. A single security officer’s life is not more important than keeping highly classified Shinra weapons out of the hands of people who would use those weapons against Shinra. Do you understand that?” There was an edge of irritation to Veld’s voice that made Tseng feel ashamed.

He bowed his head. It had been two years since he finished academy and in that time he had killed many people in the name of Shinra, but there was still that occasional conscience that caused him to exercise compassion when he felt he could justify it. That conscience had now jeopardized valuable Shinra secrets. Would they fire him for such a mistake? Turks didn’t get fired…they got taken away to a room at the end of the hall where the interrogation rooms were and then they were carried out in a black body bag.

“I understand, sir.”

“I don’t think you do,” Veld sounded genuinely angry now. “Tomorrow night we’ll go together to investigate this ship. They’ve moved out of Costa del Sol’s harbor now that they know a Turk was on board,” he frowned at Tseng as he said it, “but I’ve managed to track down their location off the northern shores of the Western continent. Be ready to leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Appropriately contrite, Tseng stood and left the office before Veld could order him to.

* * *

Reno stared at a shiny row of weapons and gadgets, barely registering whatever the cute blonde Turk at the front of the room was saying to him and his new academy classmates. He got the gist of it. They had to pick a weapon or training style to specialize in, but they would also be outfitted with a nice shiny gun, just in case the knife or the sword or whatever-the-fuck didn’t cut it. Next to him, the big bald muscle-head they’d paired him up with for the Shinra assassin version of company icebreakers was staring at a pair of gloves with chrome-plated knuckles.

Yeah, that would be his style, wouldn’t it? His ear was all lined with piercings and he had a real butch look going for him. Reno would have put down a thousand gil on the spot that his dick was pierced.

The display of weapons was impressive: fancy swords of every size and shape, nunchakus, staves, maces, assault rifles, shotguns, explosives - those were tempting - but what really caught Reno’s eye was a shiny little collapsible stun baton with a big red button engraved with a lightning bolt.

He picked the weapon up and hefted it in his hand. It had a good weight to it, and he gave it a few experimental swings, earning him a gruff ‘watch it’ from the bald meathead. Then he pressed the button and his body brimmed with excitement as a spark of electricity ran up and down the baton.

“Whaddayou call this thing?” He asked the blonde who had been lecturing him. What was her name again? Emma.

Emma pursed her lips and frowned at him. “That’s an electro-magnetic rod. EMR for short. If you choose that your new file name on your ID badge will be Rod.”

“ _Rod_!?” Reno snorted. But then, Rod wasn’t so far off from Red, easy enough to respond to in a pinch. “Yeah, okay fine. What about ‘Lightning Rod’?” He framed his hands as though he were reading a marquee.

“Rod it is,” Emma said curtly, typing something on the tablet she held in her hand. 

Reno took the belt strap that came with the EMR and fastened it around his waist. He was so skinny that he had to punch a new notch in the belt to get it to fit. Then he sat down at the table he shared with the meathead and watched while the rest of his classmates - there were seven of them - picked their weapons.

Ole’ meathead went for the chrome-plated gloves, fastening them to his hands and flexing his fingers experimentally.

“Martial Arts,” Emma announced.

“Stupid name,” Reno muttered. “I’m gonna call you Muscles, all right?”

Muscles frowned at him as he resumed his seat next to him. “You could just call me Martial Arts like Emma said.”

Reno rolled his eyes. “Sounds terrible.”

“Whatever you say, _Rod_.”

Training sucked. That’s all Reno had to say about it. He didn’t like following orders, he didn’t like having to run laps and learn stupid shit about stuffy executives and rich spoiled playboys, he didn’t like having to sneak smokes between drills. But when he got to whack around the EMR and learn how to use it, he had a blast. And when he got to run patrols with their superior officers and utilize his real skills: scaling buildings, eavesdropping, picking up bits of Wutaian conversation, then he was loving life.

So a few years of shit training and learning a bunch of crap he didn’t want to know about people who didn’t give a shit if he lived or died seemed worth it if in the end he got to run around doing the same shit he did before in the Wall Market but accompanied with a nice juicy paycheck.

Two years would be a breeze.

* * *

Tseng met Veld on the helipad just after midnight the day after his reprimanding. Veld greeted him with a nod of the head and said nothing else as they boarded a waiting helicopter and flew across the sea to intercept the dissident ship anchored off the coast of the Western continent.

What would they find on board, Tseng wondered. What if the weapons had already been moved? If Tseng couldn’t correct the mistake he made on his last mission, he was almost certain they would let him go for his failure. How had he been so foolish? He had to prove to Veld that he fully understood what it meant to be a Turk.

“When we get onto the ship, the objective is to remain unseen until we can retrieve all of the data. Then we’ll need to destroy the weapons remaining on the ship. The best option will be to sink the ship, so we’ll have to be discreet,” Veld explained. “I trust you to get this done.”

“Of course, sir.”

“We’ll split up once below deck. You retrieve the data, I’ll examine the weapons cache and set a detonation sequence.”

Tseng nodded. He hadn’t been this nervous before a mission since he first joined the Turks. The truth was, he was ashamed of disappointing his mentor and terrified he would fail again. He resolved to find the data and destroy it even if it meant being captured and killed by the dissidents…or worse.

They landed the helicopter in a clearing a few miles west of the shoreline and made their way by foot to a waiting rowboat. Tseng rowed while Veld examined the rough blueprint of the ship Tseng had sketched based on his previous mission. He wasn’t able to map out every room, but they at least had a means of discreet entry through a rusted porthole on the starboard side of the ship.

“They won’t see us approach in the dark,” Veld said, glancing up as the ship came into view. It was a modest sized ship, which meant there were only so many places the data could be hiding, but also only so many places Tseng and Veld would be able to hide to avoid detection. “I don’t have to tell you that failure in this mission could cost us both our lives. These people should never have been able to get their hands on the data in the first place.”

Tseng swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course sir.”

He guided the rowboat along the starboard side of the ship, careful to avoid making too much noise with the oars. There would undoubtedly be a lookout in the crow’s nest, but beyond that there were no obvious signs of movement above deck. Tseng steadied the boat while Veld used his materia to break the rusted porthole as silently as he possibly could, tossing the glass and metal into the water and climbing inside. Tseng followed close behind.

Inside, it was nearly pitch-black and it took a moment for Tseng’s eyes to adjust. They found themselves in a small room containing uniforms and supplies, including a few Shinra uniforms they must have used to infiltrate and obtain the data in the first place. Immediately, Tseng gathered up the Shinra uniforms and tossed them out the window into the sea.

“Good,” Veld nodded. “I’m going to slip out and look for the weapons. Wait a minute or two before you step out too.”

“Yes, sir.”

Veld gripped Tseng’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“You as well, sir.”

Veld carefully opened the door, peering out into the hallway before stepping out and shutting the door behind him. Tseng checked his watch and waited before following suit.

The hallway was equally dark and mercifully empty, but the lack of any guard presence only made Tseng more anxious, his heart pounding in his ears. He moved silent as a shadow along the hallway, stopping at each door and listening for any sound on the other side before peeking inside. He found a group of sleeping dissidents in one room and quickly shut the door to avoid waking them. Briefly he considered it might be more merciful to kill them now, while they slept, than to let them drown when they sunk the ship, but the Turks weren’t in the business of mercy and it risked alerting others to his presence if he couldn’t incapacitate them quickly enough.

So he moved on through the ship until he reached a door where he heard voices coming from within. He pressed himself against the wall and listened.

“And you’ve got buyers for the data?” A woman’s voice asked.

“Multiple. We’re sitting on a gods damned goldmine here.” A man replied.

“Better move fast with it. They already sent a Turk after us once. They’re bound to do it again.”

“Let them. I’d show those bastard lapdogs the business end of this gun-”

Tseng didn’t wait any longer. He opened the door and stepped inside to find a man and a woman standing before a computer terminal and a bank of monitors displaying security feeds. The two of them stared at Tseng with mouths agape and he took the opportunity to fire off a deadly accurate shot between the man’s eyes. He slumped to the floor and the woman, to her credit, trained her gun on Tseng rather than mourning her dead comrade.

“Don’t fucking move, Turk.”

Tseng didn’t comply, firing a shot into her shoulder that made her drop her gun. He needed her alive, at least for the time being.

“I found the weapons cache,” Veld’s voice sounded in Tseng’s ear piece.

The woman was moving to grab her gun with her good arm, but Tseng fired another shot, striking her other shoulder and causing her to reel backward, clutching feebly at her wounds as blood blossomed on her crisp white shirt. Tseng moved quickly, grabbing her by the back of the neck and forcing her to the computer terminal.

“You’re going to unlock the computer for me.”

“Fuck you,” she spat.

Tseng pressed his gun against her hip. “Would you like to reconsider?”

“You think I joined this group so I could turn at the slightest hint of danger?” She asked, her voice all venom. “I knew I might die trying to fight you bastards. And I’d gladly do so.”

“You will.” Tseng shot against her hip and she shrieked, her knees buckling as she slid to the floor. He searched her while she groaned and stared at the bloody mess in her side, finding what he was looking for more quickly than he expected. A card-key was hidden in her pocket and he pulled it out, tapping it against a reader next to the computer.

The computer screen flashed the message, “Fingerprint scan required.”

“Get up,” Tseng growled, gripping the collar of the woman’s shirt and forcing her to her feet. He grabbed her hand and pressed her finger against the reader and though she tried to fight him, she was too weak to struggle much. The computer unlocked and he dropped her to the floor, where she remained, moaning in pain and clutching her hip.

And though he knew it wasn’t his place to dole out mercy killings, Tseng shot her in the head to end her suffering before turning back to the computer to find and delete the data he was searching for.

“What’s your status, sir?” Tseng asked.

There was a moment’s pause before Veld’s voice sounded on the other end, breathless, loud noise cutting through from the background. “I’ve encountered a bit of trouble,” he said. “They were storing Shinra mechs with the weapons and they’ve been activated as a security measure. I’m holding them off, but I won’t have time to fight them and set the detonation sequence. Have you-” a gunshot fired, “found the data?”

“I’m deleting it now, sir. Then I can come assist you.”

“I’m setting the detonation sequence. Get out as soon as the data is deleted.”

“But sir-”

“That’s an order, Tseng.”

The sound cut out and Tseng's heart dropped into his stomach. Order or no, he wasn’t leaving Veld behind to die in that ship. He needed to find the data and delete it quickly, but it was taking him longer than he would have preferred. Once he managed to find it and erase it, he then had to make sure all the cloud backups were destroyed as well, which took a while longer. The whole time, all he could think about was Veld trying to single-handedly defend himself against several military-grade Shinra mechs while setting an explosives charge.

Tseng’s job as a Turk was to protect Shinra’s secrets. So he checked and double-checked that every scrap of the valuable data had been erased from the servers, then he destroyed the computer for good measure before taking off and winding his way through the halls to find Veld.

By this point, the guards must have been alerted to a security breach, because Tseng encountered resistance in the hallway. He took two men down with well-aimed shots before his clip was emptied. He didn’t have the benefit of time or cover to reload, so he launched himself on the third man, delivering a swift series of blows to incapacitate him before gripping his head and twisting to break his neck. The immediate threat taken care of, he continued on through the ship until he heard the distinctive _rat-a-tat_ of mech fire, following the sound down a long hallway to an open door.

Stepping inside, he found Veld using his bolt materia to temporarily stun the mechs, a few seconds at a time, using that time to lay charges along the outer wall of the ship.

“Sir!” Tseng called, ducking as a mech turned its fire on him.

“Tseng, what the hell are you doing here?” Veld demanded.

“My mission was to find and destroy the data, sir,” Tseng said, charging his own bolt materia and stunning the nearest mech. “I have successfully completed that mission.” He dashed past a mech, firing off a shot at a weak spot on one of its joints, and came to rest next to Veld. “My secondary objective as a Turk is to protect Shinra assets. A Turk is an important Shinra asset, sir.”

Veld looked away from laying the charges and fixed Tseng with an inscrutable expression. Then he nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

“Focus on laying the charges, sir, I’ll hold the mechs off.”

So while Veld finished his task, Tseng used his bolt materia and his gun to hold the mechs at bay, managing to damage the nearest one enough to completely incapacitate it.

“When we get back,” Veld said, “We’re going to find out how the hell they got their hands on these mechs and deal with whoever allowed them access.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’m done.” Veld rose to his feet and joined Tseng in focusing his fire on the remaining mechs. “Let’s get to the other side of the room and use our materia to ignite the charge. We won’t have long to escape once the charges detonate.”

“What’s our plan?” Tseng asked. “It’s unlikely the rowboat remained near the ship.”

“No,” Veld agreed. “I’ve already radioed our coordinates back to HQ. A helicopter is en route.”

That was why Tseng strove to emulate Veld’s leadership. He always thought ahead, always considered every possibility, and always remained level headed even in the face of so much pressure.

“I’ll follow your lead, sir,” Tseng said.

“On my count. One…two…GO.”

The two of them dashed to the other side of the room and while Tseng held the mechs off with another bolt, quickly tiring from the use of so much materia, Veld used his fire materia to light the fuse on the charges. Then they ran, leaving the mechs behind and hurrying down the hallway back to the broken porthole as fast as their legs would carry them.

Unfortunately, they just weren’t fast enough to outrun the fuses. The explosion detonated and blew out the port side of the ship, debris flying everywhere even as they reached the starboard side. A metal beam slammed into Tseng’s leg, breaking the bones and pinning him against the floor just outside the doorway to the room with the broken porthole. Veld doubled back and knelt next to Tseng.

If Tseng had to die, then so be it. Veld was a more valuable asset to the company than he was, and this was the price Tseng had to pay for his egregious mistake on his last mission.

“Sir, please go,” Tseng said through clenched teeth. The pain in his leg was immense and his chest ached as well.

“Watch yourself,” Veld warned. “You aren’t in any position to give orders to a superior like that.”

“Sir…”

Veld struggled against the metal beam, lifting it just enough for Tseng to pull himself out from underneath it, though he couldn’t stand on his injured leg anymore. Another blast went off on the port side of the ship, launching pieces of metal like so much shrapnel. Tseng ducked down and some of the debris caught Veld on the face, leaving behind two deep wounds along his right cheek.

“You’re injured, sir!” Tseng cried.

“Don’t worry about that,” Veld snapped, pulling Tseng away from the wreckage and toward the porthole.

Tseng did his best to stand on his uninjured leg, but when he looked down, he realized a jagged piece of metal was sticking out of his chest, shockingly close to his heart. His pant leg was drenched in blood and he realized his leg wasn’t just broken, but torn open. He had lost quite a bit of blood.

“Hang in there, Tseng,” Veld said, holding him against his side and pulling him toward the porthole.

“Sir…” Tseng struggled to speak, his vision rapidly going black. “I-”

And then all was dark.

* * *

Rude didn’t care for the loudmouthed redhead he kept getting paired with in drills, but everything else about Turks training turned out to be a hell of a lot more fun than he had anticipated. It certainly beat going to prison for three years. He had always wanted to receive real training from a master of martial arts, but his parents couldn’t even afford to stick him in karate as a kid, so most of his fighting skills were those of a street brawler. His training master taught him how to treat every muscle in order for his body to work as one well-oiled machine, taught him how to meditate to focus his movements, taught him how to channel his energy to specific points.

“Sounds like a load of chocobo shit,” Rod said through a mouthful of food.

“Well, what is your training master teaching you?” Rude grumbled.

They had paired the redhead with him on the first day, continued to pair them together for sparring sessions, and Rod thought that meant they were friends, apparently. Rude couldn’t shake him, not for lack of trying. He followed him around like a stray cat Rude made the mistake of feeding.

After a few months, Rude had just come to terms with the fact that he would have to endure Rod’s numerous loud complaints for the duration of their time at academy.

“He teaches me how to whack shit with my fancy electric stick. What the hell else is there to it?”

Rude had a strong suspicion that Rod’s instructor was likely trying to impart more wisdom than just ‘whacking shit’, but not much seemed to filter through Rod’s dense skull.

Not that he was dumb. On night’s off when all of the class would check out local bars and clubs, Rod seemed to know someone everywhere, could get them around the city via a thousand different routes, knew back alleys to avoid being seen by their supervisors, and could haggle down the price of just about anything. He also knew enough Wutaian to take them to actual authentic restaurants where they would gorge themselves on real honest-to-gods Wutaian food until their stomachs hurt.

So he wasn’t all bad, Rude supposed, but he wasn’t ideal as a work partner by any stretch of the imagination. For all his positive features, he mostly just grated on Rude’s nerves on a near-constant basis. 

Rude kept handing Rod his ass in training, but a few months of constant physical training had at least put a little more lean muscle on the kid. Kid. Well, he was only two years younger than Rude, but he seemed like a kid the way he ran at the mouth constantly. Except, the longer they were stuck in training together, the more Rude got to thinking maybe he just couldn’t help himself. When Rod had a task he really enjoyed, really excelled at, it was like watching an entirely different person work. A flip got switched and suddenly he was all professionalism until the task was finished.

It was a little unsettling, honestly.

The rest of Rude’s classmates were agreeable, fun enough to be around. One of them was a rich kid from the Western continent and personally, Rude didn’t think she had what it took to make it through the finals. They all knew what was awaiting them at the end of their two years. Rude wasn’t overly keen on having to take a life, but if it meant he got to keep on living this new life, well…there would be more lives he’d have to take down the road anyway. 

Whatever doubts about Rod he had in every other respect, he felt certain that if any of his classmates were going to make it to becoming a full-fledged Turk, it was Rod.

Then maybe when they were done with training, they’d get their own assignments and he’d only ever have to see the obnoxious loudmouth in the conference room during meetings.

Well, Rude could dream anyway.

* * *

Tseng awoke with a pleasant feeling of nothingness, his thoughts hazy and sluggish, struggling to remember what had happened. He recalled being trapped beneath a beam, metal jutting from his chest, and then-

He opened his eyes and found himself lying in a hospital bed with his leg in a cast and thick bandaging wrapped around his chest, though they must have given him top quality pain medication because he didn’t feel a thing. He knew from experience that he was in the private infirmary at headquarters, available only to Turks and SOLDIERS. But he had never been this badly wounded on a mission before.

Just as he was wondering what happened to Veld, the door to the room opened and Veld stepped inside.

“Oh,” he said, sighing audibly with relief. “You’re awake.”

“Sir,” Tseng tried to sit up, but found it too difficult. Veld’s face had been stitched up, but it was obvious the wounds from the ship would leave lasting scars.

“You were out for a few days,” Veld explained, standing at the end of Tseng’s bed. “We were all worried about you.”

Tseng struggled to find the right words to thank Veld. It wasn’t the first time he had saved Tseng’s life, but it was certainly above and beyond the call of his duty. There would now be a reminder of Tseng’s debt permanently marring Veld’s face. Lacking the ability to form a nuanced sentence on the subject, Tseng simply said,

“Thank you for saving my life, sir.”

Veld smiled. It was surprising how much it softened his stern features. “Turks look after one another,” he said. “In a way, we’re like family. Do you understand now what it means to be a Turk, Tseng?”

“Yes,” Tseng answered. “Above all else a mission must be seen through and our number one mission as Turks is to protect Shinra assets.”

Veld nodded. “Having achieved that mission, you risked your life to double back and save me. A Turk’s most important defining feature is our loyalty. Not to Shinra, but to one another.”

This sentiment surprised Tseng, and he did a poor job of hiding it. Veld laughed.

“Only by remaining loyal to one another can we best protect Shinra and its assets. You understand that, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have come back for me. Just as I wouldn’t have saved you from the wreckage. Hold that close to your chest, Tseng. This will never leave this room, but if I were forced to choose between Shinra and the Turks, I know where I would stand on the matter. I’d like to think that all my fellow Turks would stand with me.”

Tseng considered this for a moment. Though he didn’t dwell on it often, if he had to consider how he felt about his superiors outside of the Turks he would probably be forced to admit he didn’t necessarily care for most of them. But his loyalty to Veld was unwavering.

“Yes,” he answered. “I would stand with you, sir.”

“Get some rest, Tseng. Once they discharge you, you’re on desk duty until your leg is healed.” Veld moved next to Tseng’s bedside and set a shimmering piece of green materia on the end table next to the bed. “This is quite rare materia,” he said. “It was given to me as a gift when I became leader of the Turks. I want you to have it.”

“Sir?” Tseng’s voice caught in his throat. He had never been one for sentimentality, but something about the gesture affected him deeply.

“When you’re healed, I’d like to discuss the details of your promotion,” said Veld.

“My promotion?”

“I’m assigning you to executive ranking,” Veld said. “Given a few more years of experience…I should like you to be in line to take up my position when I’ve reached the end of my usefulness to Shinra.”

Tseng didn’t want to consider such a time, but he was nevertheless deeply humbled by the implication of Veld’s words. “Sir, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Veld stepped back toward the doorway. “Continue to perform as you have been, as you did on the ship. That, above all else, will prove to me that you’re ready for your future role. I’ll leave you to rest now. Keep that materia with you. You never know when it might come in handy.”

“What is it, sir?” Tseng asked.

“Full-restore. It can save you from the brink of death. In fact, it already has once.”

Tseng stared at it and hoped he would never need to use it. When he looked up to ask Veld who had given it to him, he was already gone. So, content that he had more than redeemed himself in the eyes of his mentor, Tseng closed his eyes and let himself drift into a peaceful, dreamless slumber for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veld is Tseng's surrogate dad and you can't tell me otherwise. He saw this plucky little kid in the slums and was like "he's my son now". Anyway it took 4 chapters in to even touch on anything that happens in Before Crisis and it'll be another few chapters before we actually get to the beginning of BC. I'm playing pretty loose with it because you have to with pretty much all of the canon to make it 1) fit together with other pieces of the compilation 2) make it extra angsty/powerful for ship dynamics.
> 
> The two week schedule seems to be working out so I'll have another chapter up in 2 weeks. Thanks so much for reading!


	5. Outburst

Reno sat in front of Veld’s desk with blood staining his suit and shirt, flecked across his chest where he left his shirt unbuttoned, the iron reek of it stuck in his nose. Thus far in his two years of Turk training he had enjoyed almost every aspect of being a Turk outside of the whole taking orders shtick, but he had been dreading the torturing and killing thing since the moment they told him it was part of their final exam. He was gonna do it, of course, but he wasn’t gonna like it.

And he didn’t. It made him feel sick to his stomach when it was over, and he felt sure that if he gave voice to that feeling they’d fail him for having any semblance of a conscience. So he sat there, arms shaking - and not just because he was jonesing for a cigarette so bad he was about to explode - waiting to see who else passed the big final exam.

He was nervous, too, about Muscles passing. Two years frequently paired together had endeared him to Reno more than he cared to admit. He was a hardass in most situations, but weirdly gentle around kids and animals, and a _fucking blast_ when they were drunk together. The last time they had gone out drinking, just before the exam week began, Reno watched him talk about a stray cat he had found, hands waving wildly as he gestured while talking and just for a moment - if only that - Reno thought ‘damn, I bet he’s good in bed’.

Better to shake _that_ thought from his mind. He was pretty sure fraternization was a big no-no, though technically none of the other Turks had said as much except to say ‘don’t fuck the executives’ in fewer words. But the stupid thought was taking root anyway. Reno thought Muscles was attractive from day one: getting to know him only made it worse. But there were plenty of other fish in the proverbial sea and Reno could convince himself that mostly he was just worried his friend wasn’t going to pass the exam.

Though, maybe if he didn’t pass and he got shoved into some other department then they could fuck without breaking any rules.

He was depressingly worried Muscles was straight anyway.

All these thoughts were mingling in his mind at once, creating a cacophony that made him so antsy he wanted to scream. He tapped his foot against the floor in agitation and nearly jumped out of his skin when the door swung open and - thank the Gods - Muscles stepped in, blood staining his suit and the knuckles of his gloves.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, falling into the seat next to Reno.

“Oh _man_ ,” Reno breathed a sigh of relief. “You passed, huh?”

“Seems like it.” He glanced sideways at Reno. “You too, huh?”

“Guess so.” Reno’s hands were still shaking, so he gripped the arms of the chair to keep them still. “Can I tell you something, just between you and me?”

Muscles raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Typical of him.

“I hated the last part. Made me sick. I almost threw up once I stepped out of the interrogation room.” To Reno’s surprise, Muscles started laughing. Reno got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Maybe he should have kept his big mouth shut. “What’s so fucking funny?”

It took Muscles a minute to calm himself down. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathless. “I hated it too. I was afraid if I said anything I’d get reprimanded, but it was horrible. I just didn’t think anyone would feel the same, least of all you.”

“What, like I’m some hardened killer?” Reno bristled.

“No. Just…you know,” Rude shrugged. “You grew up in the slums.”

“Oh, so you think grounders are just naturally inclined to murder?”

“Ah,” Muscles frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, go on, tell me all about how you really feel about me.” Reno was legitimately pissed. He thought Muscles was different, but apparently he was the same as every other upper-crust snob. He folded his arms and stared ahead at Veld’s desk. “I thought we were friends, but fuck that I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Muscles repeated. “We _are_ friends.” He followed Reno’s gaze to Veld’s empty seat. “Even if you annoy me all the time.”

Reno grinned at this, but he was still annoyed enough to remain silent for a few more seconds. He was about to say something when the door opened and Veld stepped in. For a few months halfway through their training Veld had been out on extended leave, and when he returned his left arm had been replaced with a metal prosthesis. No one knew what had happened, except maybe Tseng, who wouldn’t have told them even if he did. So everyone just quietly speculated as to what the hell happened, decided it was related to a top-secret mission, and didn’t bring it up. Even Reno knew asking about it was stupid if he valued his life and well-being.

“Congratulations to the both of you,” Veld said, taking a seat behind his desk. “You’ve made some impressive strides in the last two years. You were both Tseng’s recruits weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Muscles answered.

“Yeah,” Reno groaned.

He still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of corporate kiss-assery, and he forgot to tack on the ‘sir’ to the end of sentences more often than he ought to. Veld didn’t chastise him about it too often, but if Tseng was hovering around, he was always breathing down Reno’s neck about addressing superiors appropriately and following company dress code.

Tseng was fucking hot, but he also had a stick up his ass. There was a constant battle in Reno’s brain between the absolute lust that overtook him whenever he encountered Tseng training in the Turks’ private gym and the irritation at being constantly scolded (though honestly…Reno was kind of into it). 

Muscles suggested Tseng was so hard on Reno because he wanted Reno to meet his full potential. Reno wasn’t sure about all that. He figured Tseng was just that kind of hardass who didn’t accept second-best from anyone. Great to think he would probably replace Veld as their leader one day.

“Have you decided on your aliases?”

Reno had decided on his alias almost immediately after being told he had to come up with one. He was partial to the name Red, really, because it had been thrust on him by the best people in Wall Market in his humble opinion. But he didn’t want to go back to ‘just Red’. So he decided to mix it with another word that got hurled at him all the fucking time: ‘No’. ‘Reno’ sounded pretty damn cool to him and now whenever someone told him no he could just break their fucking fingers if he wanted. Not that he really would. He liked wearing the word like a badge of honor. See who tells me ‘no’ now with this sleek black suit on.

So he told Veld his alias and Veld nodded, finding the name suitable apparently. Reno wondered if aliases ever got vetoed. But if they hadn’t vetoed fucking dickrag Legend’s alias, then what _would_ they veto? Maybe Reno should have suggested ‘Dickrag’ as an alias.

Muscles opted for ‘Rude’, which Reno already knew was coming. When Reno probed him on it, it turned out his reasons were surprisingly similar to Reno’s. It was one part borrowing from his real last name - Rodriguez - and one part turning an insult into a badge of honor. When he had worked as a bouncer before Turk training, rich snobs had always been calling him rude for putting them in their place.

Reno liked the way it sounded, and that it was so close to his old name. ‘Rude’. It fit old muscle head perfectly.

They were allowed a day to celebrate after passing, but neither of them much felt like it after the shit they’d been made to do, so they went back to their quarters to wash the blood off their hands and then they sat around Skyview Hall, picking at the food they bought at the little cafe and commiserating, lamenting that none of their other classmates had passed.

“The final exam is too hard for most people, I guess,” Rude said. 

A few tables down, some third class SOLDIERS sat picking at their own food looking equally unhappy. Killing for Shinra took its toll on everyone apparently. At the end of the day, Reno would rather be killing low-lives stealing company secrets than shooting at civilians on the ground in Wutai. In the privacy of their own quarters, Reno and Rude had discussed their own thoughts on the war and their bloated stupid President more than once, but those words never left their mouths in mixed company.

“Well, partner, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” Reno laughed through a mouthful of rice. “Bet you were hoping to shake me with these exams.”

Rude looked at Reno, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “You do get on my nerves. But I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself without your loud mouth next to me all the time.”

Reno allowed himself one slip of protocol then, one risky maneuver that could easily be read as innocuous if he had to defend himself. He nudged his foot against Rude’s beneath the table and grinned. And when Rude smiled back at him, he felt his heart flutter.

_Well, you’re a fucking idiot, Reno._

Oh well.

* * *

Tseng found himself seated at a table with a group of his superiors growing increasingly uncomfortable. As of late, he had been attending certain meetings with Veld, though never any of the most important board meetings. When he had been promoted to executive rank, Veld had casually mentioned that he may have to sit in on meetings from time to time, but Tseng had quickly forgotten it as missions took up his time.

Now he was seated between Veld and Veld’s superior, the head of public security, Heidegger. Directly across from him sat Rufus Shinra and the President. Rufus stared a hole through Tseng. More than once in the four years since Tseng had passed his exams, he had been assigned to Rufus’ detail, and he left every encounter disliking Rufus more than before.

It was really too bad he was so handsome. In fact, Tseng was sure Rufus got better looking every time he saw him. It nagged at him that Rufus Shinra was _exactly_ his type because he had such a horrendous personality that as soon as he opened his mouth it killed any and all attraction Tseng might have felt for him. That was probably for the best considering they would have definitely fired Tseng for even flirting with the notion of _fraternizing_ with the President’s son.

Not that he would have wanted to with Tseng anyway. He wasn’t shy about his dislike of the Turks. Any personal failing on the company’s part somehow always circled back to a failure by the Turks to do their jobs appropriately according to Rufus.

Tseng wished Rufus would stop staring at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

“Where the hell is he, Heidegger?” The President barked, disrupting the very stiff silence that had filled the room.

Heidegger glanced at his watch. “Any minute now, sir.”

They had been called to the meeting because Heidegger had recently hired a new director to oversee the SOLDIER program, a promising young tactician by the name of Lazard Deusericus. Veld had been responsible for vetting him, but Tseng knew very little about him. Because the Turks and SOLDIER were both under the umbrella of the Public Safety and Maintenance Department, Veld had been asked to attend the meeting - with Tseng in tow - so that Lazard could meet his counterpart in the Turks as well as the two most important people at Shinra: the President and his son.

Another minute passed in uncomfortable silence with Rufus glowering across the table at Tseng. What was his problem anyway?

Mercifully, the door opened and Rufus’ attention was pulled away from Tseng. Lazard stepped into the room with a SOLDIER in tow and Tseng’s breath caught in his throat for two different reasons. The first was that the SOLIDER in question walking alongside Lazard was none other than the “War Hero of Wutai”, Sephiroth, his trademark silver hair tied into a neat bun at the base of his skull, his custom-made First Class uniform freshly polished, longsword in a scabbard at his side.

He was taller and more muscular in person than Tseng had expected. He had never really met any of the firsts. They were usually away on assignment and there existed some degree of animosity between the Turks and SOLDIERS because the Turks sometimes poached recruits from the pool of SOLDIER hopefuls. Sephiroth was only nineteen, but he held himself with the maturity and strength of a far older man.

The second surprise was that Lazard Deusericus looked so much like Rufus and the President that Tseng found himself glancing between the three men scrutinizing their every feature. He had the same face shape, the same silky ash-blonde hair, the same icy grey eyes, though there was a considerably kinder expression on his face than either of the Shinras wore at the moment.

Was Lazard related to them somehow?

He would ask Veld about it later, even though it was purely his own curiosity and he had no professional reason to dig into the matter.

Heidegger stood up and gestured to two empty seats at the end of the table. “Mr. President, this is Lazard Deusericus. And of course you know Sephiroth.”

“Sir,” Sephiroth bowed his head and took a seat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Lazard said, bowing his head as well.

The President nodded. He didn’t seem at all surprised by the appearance of a man that looked so like his son they could have been brothers. Then again, Veld had briefed Heidegger and the President on him, so they all knew more than Tseng did on the matter. 

Rufus, on the other hand, looked positively furious. He had quickly noticed what Tseng had and likely came to the same conclusions. The President’s predilection for petite blondes was no secret within the company, obvious from his revolving door of secretaries fitting the same mold. What was less well known was just how hands-on the President was with his secretaries. But Tseng knew, and Rufus undoubtedly knew as well. It was in fact the most likely answer that Lazard was the President’s bastard son. One of many, if Tseng had to speculate.

He felt a surprising pang of pity for Rufus.

“This is the President’s son, Rufus,” Heidegger introduced him with a frown. “And you’ve already met Veld.”

He didn’t even mention Tseng, but Veld introduced him anyway, which earned him an annoyed huff from Heidegger.

“Introductions aside, we’ll need to bring you up to speed with everything that’s happening in Wutai,” The President interrupted. Lazard’s predecessor had been recently killed on the ground in Wutai. The President had made it clear to Heidegger that whoever filled the role next would stay at headquarters and direct battles from there.

“Sephiroth has filled me in a little bit,” Lazard explained. “But I’m eager to hear the full story.”

Tseng found himself distracted during the meeting, partially because Lazard was, like Rufus, stunningly handsome and exactly Tseng’s type, but partially because he was so opposite to Rufus in so many ways: soft-spoken, with kind eyes, smiling often as he and the President discussed strategy with Heidegger. Tseng was really only there to meet Lazard and gain an understanding of what kind of meetings Veld attended, so he didn’t feel too badly about being so distracted. 

It was also nice to see Rufus’ ire directed at someone else now that Lazard was in the room.

When the meeting was over, Lazard thanked them all and left with Heidegger and Sephiroth to continue his work.

“Veld,” the President said as they all stood. He clamped his hand down on Rufus’ shoulder to keep him from fleeing the room. “Before you go, can you spare one of your men to see Rufus to Junon? He’s attending an event in my stead and I’d like to make sure he’s safe while he’s there.”

_Not me. Not me. Not me._

Tseng privately pleaded for anyone else to get the assignment. It would be an excellent mission for their newest inductees, wouldn’t it?

“Of course,” Veld answered quickly. “Tseng, would you mind taking this mission?”

Tseng forced himself to nod politely. “Certainly, sir.”

Rufus looked as unhappy about the assignment as Tseng felt. 

“You know these types of events,” the President said, lighting a cigar and blowing smoke into Tseng’s face. “Lots of liberal socialites with their anti-war agenda,” he snorted unhappily. “They pretend they’re friends with Rufus, but I don’t trust them. You know, the boy doesn’t have any real friends, they’re all after his money. Or me.”

Rufus stared daggers at his father and said nothing.

“Just make sure he doesn’t get hurt. Or do something stupid.”

“As you say, sir,” Tseng struggled not to cough as more rank smoke blew in his face.

“Very good. The event is tomorrow, but you can just stay in one of the spare rooms at the Junon estate. Rufus will show you, won’t you boy?”

Rufus said nothing in response and his father didn’t seem to notice. He sauntered out of the room, barking at Veld to follow him so they could discuss a different matter. 

Much to his chagrin, Tseng found himself alone in the room with Rufus Shinra. 

“Looks like you get to babysit me again, Turk,” Rufus said, stepping past him and waltzing out of the room. Tseng hurried after him, though he would have preferred him to go alone and risk getting hurt. Tseng had already forgotten all about the pity he felt at the way Rufus looked at Lazard when he entered the room.

The two of them stepped into the elevator and stood in a stiff and uncomfortable silence.

“What was your name again?”

Tseng knew Rufus already knew his name, because even if Veld hadn’t said his name more than once during the meeting, he had been assigned to Rufus’ detail multiple times in the past few years and Rufus had yelled his name at him many times when Tseng did something he disagreed with, but it was Tseng’s job to remain stoic and professional, so he answered all the same, squaring his shoulders and staring at the elevator doors.

“Right. How did you like our new director of SOLDIER, Tseng?”

“He seems well-suited to the position,” Tseng responded as diplomatically as possible.

Rufus scoffed loudly. “By virtue of my father blowing his load in some hapless secretary thirty years ago. That _is_ the case isn’t it? I’m sure you Turks know all about it.”

“Veld vetted him, sir. I don’t know anything about him.”

“You have eyes don’t you?”

Tseng gave him a withering look, but realized too late that it was technically insubordination. He put on a more neutral expression. To his surprise, Rufus laughed.

“I’d rather have you roll your eyes at me than kiss my ass. But I suppose ass-kissing is a lapdog’s primary job isn’t it?”

“My job is to protect Shinra assets,” Tseng answered as he considered how easy it would be to trip Rufus when they reached the rooftop and watch him plummet over the side of the building. He didn’t care if Rufus called him a lapdog. He got that from everyone and the insult had no real effect on him. It was Rufus’ ignorance of what the Turks truly did for Shinra, and where their loyalty truly lay, that grated on Tseng’s nerves. Typical of a rich brat to assume he knew more than anyone else about any given topic.

The elevator doors opened and they made their way out onto the roof, into one of several helicopters resting on the roof’s multiple landing pads. Tseng held the side door open for Rufus and received a swift reprimand.

“It’s not your fucking job to act like a butler.”

It wasn’t the first time Rufus had said that to him.

Tseng assumed his seat in the pilot’s chair and Rufus sat next to him, arm’s folded, glowering out the window while Tseng took them up into the air and set a course for Junon. He had been there once or twice on assignment and while he did like the view of the sea, he liked Midgar better as a whole.

“Do you know anything about Veld’s shiny metal arm?” Rufus asked after a few minutes of silence.

Tseng only knew that Veld had been injured on a mission and Hojo had engineered the prosthesis for him. He told Rufus as much.

“Hojo,” Rufus scoffed. “My father’s biggest waste of money.”

It always annoyed Tseng when he agreed with Rufus on any given topic, but he was of a similar mind regarding Hojo and his sordid experiments. What little Tseng knew about what went on in research and development was more than he cared to know. The President funded a number of pet projects with questionable utility and Hojo was undoubtedly using his funds to run other unsupervised projects.

“No opinion on the subject?” Rufus prodded.

Tseng sighed. “My opinion doesn’t matter, sir.”

“Is every Turk so self-loathing or are you special? You’re all robots, aren’t you? Just doing whatever my father says with no thoughts of your own. It’s infuriating. When I’m President, I’ll be happy to relieve you of your duties,” he fixed Tseng with a fierce look and it was obvious he understood perfectly well what ‘relieving a Turk of his duties’ meant.

“I would hope,” said Tseng, choosing his words carefully, “that a good leader would assess the utility of each and every worker before dismissing them so easily.”

Rufus scoffed and said nothing.

Tseng was perfectly content to spend the hour-long flight to Junon in silence, as uncomfortable as it might be, but Rufus apparently felt the need to fill the silence, even if it was mostly with derogatory remarks toward the Turks. Tseng answered with one-word sentences and shrugs for the most part. It was evident Rufus was trying to get a rise out of him, but Tseng refused to break. He had endured worse during training academy than Rufus _fucking_ Shinra.

“Have you ever fucked one of the other Turks?” Rufus asked.

“No,” Tseng lied.

“I guess you wouldn’t. You don’t seem like much of a rule breaker. My father fucked one of them once and then they had her ‘permanently relocated’ when he got her pregnant. I’m sure you know what that means.”

It meant they had walked her down a long hallway and carried her out in a body bag. Tseng clenched his jaw and said nothing.

“He sticks his dick in every cute little blonde who gives him the chance,” Rufus continued, though Tseng suspected he was no longer really talking to him so much as he was voicing his thoughts aloud. “That new director of SOLDIER is hardly the only bastard my father has running around. And if the women can’t be paid off, the Turks take care of the mess.”

“Why are you telling me this, sir?” Tseng interrupted.

Rufus snapped his gaze away from the window to look at Tseng, as if only just remembering he were there. “I assumed the Turks knew all about it.”

“We know only what is necessary to do our jobs.”

“Deaf, blind, and dumb,” Rufus spat.

They spent the rest of the flight in silence. When they arrived in Junon it was raining and Tseng offered to hold Rufus’ umbrella only to be chided yet again for ‘acting like his butler’. There was a car awaiting them when they reached the main road and Tseng and Rufus sat next to each other in the back seat while the driver took them to the Shinra Estate: a high-rise luxury condominium building belonging to the Shinras, the top ten floors of which had been turned into private apartments and recreational halls just for Rufus and his father.

It was really no wonder Rufus acted the way he did, growing up with so much wealth. This was just one of many homes Rufus split his time between. Meanwhile Tseng lived in a box in Sector 1 just barely large enough for the four pieces of furniture he owned, his kitchen little more than a stove and a refrigerator. Of course, Turks were paid well, but what use did Tseng have for an overpriced luxury apartment when he spent half of his time on missions?

Tseng followed Rufus up to the penultimate floor where a sprawling apartment took up the entire level. Unlike his father’s office, decorated in gaudy overdone marble and gold trim everywhere, Rufus’ apartment was surprisingly understated and modern, with an open floor plan that allowed a view of the entire unit and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. Rufus pulled his coat off and tossed it haphazardly toward a bench by the door. Tseng stopped and picked it up, hanging it on a coat rack next to the bench.

“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall you can sleep in,” Rufus explained. “I won’t have need of you until tomorrow evening. Even then…” he frowned at Tseng for several seconds. “I see no reason I need to be tailed by obvious security.”

“I won’t be tailing you, sir,” Tseng explained. “I’ll do a check of the building before the event and remain out of view during. I will simply be available if someone attempts to step in and-”

“Whatever,” Rufus waved a dismissive hand.

“Sir, it’s not my choice to do this,” Tseng continued. “Just as it wasn’t my choice to have to follow you around while you went out drinking with your friends. Your father is the one who assigned the Turks to these tasks.”

“And yet you carry out his requests blindly. A loyal, obedient little lapdog. Do you like licking my father’s boots, Tseng?”

Tseng clenched his fists and said nothing.

“Come on, tell me,” Rufus took a step toward him. “Would you suck his cock if he asked you to?”

The only thing that kept Tseng from breaking and punching Rufus in the jaw - which was something that might teach him a little humility in Tseng’s humble opinion - was the fact that he would absolutely get fired and subsequently killed if he laid a hand on the President’s son. But he was struggling not to bite back and Rufus clearly saw it, going for the throat as he took another step closer to Tseng.

“Does he fuck you like he fucks all his cute little secretaries? You certainly act like his bitch.”

“Why are you such a _cunt!_?” Tseng exploded.

Rufus balked at him and immediately Tseng wished he could take the words back, not because he hadn’t meant it - the more vitriol Rufus spewed, the more Tseng loathed him - but because he feared the repercussions of such an enormous lapse in judgment. Veld was grooming him to become his successor and this was how he repaid him?

Tseng stood, tense and ready to apologize when Rufus burst out laughing. Tseng stared at him as he clutched at his stomach and shook his head.

“So you _aren’t_ made of stone, are you?” He kept laughing, walking over to the bar by the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. “You can relax now, little lapdog. I’m not going to have you tossed into the incinerator or whatever it is my father does with you when he’s grown bored with you. At least now I know how you really feel about me.”

“Sir-”

“If you apologize, I’ll change my mind,” Rufus snapped.

So Tseng said nothing.

“You can help yourself to whatever food is in the fridge, but most of it is probably expired. It’s been several weeks since I’ve been here.” Rufus wandered over to a chair by the window and slumped into it. “I’d prefer if you just leave me the fuck alone, if it’s all the same.”

Tseng nodded. “Goodnight, sir.”

The ‘guest room’ was larger than Tseng’s entire apartment and he lay for some time in the bed considering his outburst and Rufus’ unexpected reaction to it. He hated him, but at least he had been amused by the insult, rather than angry. As Tseng fell asleep, he decided he would keep the outburst to himself, rather than admit it to Veld. Despite his distaste for Rufus, he had a feeling it would stay between the two of them.

* * *

Rufus never minded a party, except when he was being asked to attend at his father’s behest. It was a gala at an art gallery for some cause or another: feeding the poor, saving the planet, Rufus could never keep all of the contradictory causes his father pretended to support straight, but he showed up because the alternative was being screamed at by his father with threats to remove him from the will.

Rufus’ future was constantly being held out before him like a gyshal green dangled on a string in front of a chocobo. ‘If you play your cards right, one day you _might_ take over, Rufus, but don’t forget it’s never a guarantee.’ His father hiring what was unquestionably one of his bastards - whether Lazard knew it or not - felt like a thinly veiled threat. ‘Look how worthless my seed is, Rufus, I could replace you with any other bastard the minute you make a wrong move.’

Wouldn’t it be lovely to serve his father that bastard’s head on a plate? Not that he couldn’t replace him with another in a heartbeat.

More and more often, his father had been assigning Turks to his detail to keep him from making a fool of himself in the press, even though it had all been an act to begin with. Rufus resented being treated like a child. He was twenty-two. Wasn’t it time for his father to bestow the proper title on him? He had kissed his father’s ass as much as he could stomach and all it got him was a glorified babysitter looming around constantly. Small consolation that it was the most handsome Turk. Even if Rufus hated Tseng, at least he was nice to look at.

And being called a cunt by his father’s most rule-abiding little crony had been refreshing, frankly. He tried to imagine Veld breaking like that, but he couldn’t. He would have liked to tattle on Tseng to Veld just to see the reaction, but he didn’t believe in punishing good behavior like that.

Presently, Rufus found himself in a broom closet on the gallery’s second floor while a cute redhead sucked his cock. She wasn’t stunning by any means, but she was cute enough and after a little groping in the hallway and a few drinks, Rufus wasn’t setting his standards too high physically. She had been a good conversationalist, which usually counted more in his book. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at what she was doing.

“Is it good?” She asked in a throaty whine Rufus had heard a dozen times from men and women alike trying to mimic bad porn. It was almost enough to make him go soft. She pressed her lips against the head of his cock and he sighed. If they weren’t in such a public place he would have just taken matters into his own hands - literally - and asked to cum on her face. 

“It’s not,” Rufus wasn’t one to sugar coat things.

“Oh.” She sat back on her legs and frowned at him. “Could I…do something differently?”

Maybe she hadn’t sucked that many dicks. Rufus felt a little sorry for her now that she looking at him like that with those big eyes of hers. He gave her a few suggestions and she went back at it with little improvement, but it could have been worse. He leaned back against the wall and thrust his hips into her mouth until he finally found his release. The least he could do was return the favor, which earned him a very exaggerated response that grated on his nerves, then they stepped out of the broom closet to find Tseng waiting for them wearing a frown.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my sight?” Rufus hissed.

“You disappeared with a stranger. It’s my job to make sure you aren’t in any danger.”

Rufus rolled his eyes and stalked away without a word. He hated the constant presence of his father’s men. There was never a moment he didn’t suspect his father was spying on him in some manner or another. He had grown so paranoid about it that he constantly checked his apartments for hidden cameras and bugs. Thus far, he hadn’t found any of those, but a Turk on his detail all the time was only one step away from that as far as Rufus was concerned.

He dropped the girl, whose name he couldn’t remember anyway, and moved through the gallery out onto the veranda where he came to rest against the railing, lighting up a cigarette and sucking it down while he waited for Tseng to inevitably appear at his side. Predictably, after a few minutes puffing on the cigarette, Tseng came to stand a few feet away from him and Rufus shifted so that his cigarette smoke blew into Tseng’s face.

Tseng frowned at him.

“Oh, sorry,” said Rufus without meaning it at all. “Do you not like the smell?”

“I don’t,” Tseng answered. “But you should know it also makes you look like your father, smoking like that and carelessly blowing it in people’s faces.” Rufus bristled and nearly put out his cigarette at the mere thought of resembling his father in any way, but he didn’t want to give Tseng the pleasure of knowing he was right about something. “If you’re going to sneak into any more closets for another indiscretion, a simple forewarning would suffice.”

“But Tseng,” Rufus said, tipping the ashes from his cigarette and staring out at the sea. “I would have thought you’d love to see me killed.”

“Be that as it may, I will lose my job if I let someone kill you.”

Rufus laughed loudly at this. “Fine. Now leave me alone.”

Tseng slunk away to hide in some dark corner as he had been all evening and once Rufus was sure he was out of sight, he flicked his cigarette over the edge of the balcony and discarded the rest of the pack with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young/BC Rufus is a huge brat and I love writing him. It'll take a little time (or...a lot of time) for him to understand the nuance of the Turks loyalty. I do like to think that even when they hate each other, Tseng and Rufus have this pull on one another - this ability to influence each other even if they don't like to admit it. And that's what makes enemies to lovers soooo good for this ship.
> 
> When Whumptober is over I'm hoping to use National Novel Writing Month to lock down another 50k words for this fic so...fingers crossed.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading! I'll have another chapter up in 2 weeks.


	6. Grudge

It was rare that Tseng had a moment to himself, especially in the shared spaces at headquarters, but for the first time in several months he found the break room mercifully empty and his schedule somehow open, so he took a seat by a window overlooking the slums, opened up a book he had been reading piecemeal whenever he had time and wasn’t too exhausted after a mission, and enjoyed the silence.

Turk headquarters were located three stories beneath the plate. They had been alloted the entire floor, which consisted of living quarters for the rookies, a private weight room, a rec hall with several courts, a library, a break room with a fully stocked kitchen, and the executive offices, in addition to several locked doors even Tseng wasn’t allowed access to. At any given moment there was usually someone lounging around the break room, often a group of rookies waiting for their next lesson, since they had limited access to other parts of the floor. In fact, Tseng couldn’t really recall the last time he’d seen the break room empty.

He had just gotten invested in the chapter he was reading when the door flew open and Reno and Rude walked in arguing loudly. Or, Reno was arguing loudly. Rude mostly rolled his eyes and wandered over to the fridge while Reno talked at him.

“I mean if you had just let me handle it-” Reno started.

“If I had let you handle it, you’d be missing an arm right now,” Rude grumbled.

“Hey, maybe I’d look cool. Look at Veld.” Reno shrugged and slumped down in a chair too close to Tseng for his taste considering the entire break room was available to him. He nodded at Tseng and flashed a grin. “How’s it going, Chuckles?” 

Tseng pursed his lips. Reno had a nickname for everyone.

“Fine,” he answered curtly, turning his attention back to his book.

Reno and Rude had been his recruits, and they were good at their jobs, but they bickered often for two people who had only been working together for a few years and Tseng found Reno _difficult_ to deal with on a personal level. He was happy to let them handle their missions on their own and avoid them otherwise. Rude on his own wasn’t so bad - there was a sort of silent camaraderie between them and their exasperation with Reno - but when he and Reno were together it was often unbearable.

“Sheesh,” Reno huffed. “What crawled up your ass?”

“Reno,” Rude warned.

“What?” Reno slung his legs over the arm of the chair and placed his hands behind his head.

“Tseng is technically our superior.”

“Technically doesn’t mean shit.”

“Charming as usual, Reno,” Tseng muttered.

Reno frowned at him and turned his attention back to Rude. “Anyway, like I was saying, if you’d just _trust_ me every once in a while-”

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” Rude protested. “The problem is I’ve known you for three years now and I definitely know when you’re about to do something stupid.”

“Yeah, you think you know me.”

“I don’t think,” Rude grunted. “I know.”

Reno waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Hey what are you reading anyway, Tseng?”

“A book,” he replied.

“No shit?” Reno rolled his eyes. “ _What_ book?”

“It’s historical fiction. I doubt it would interest you.”

“You don’t know! I might like it.”

Frankly, Tseng wasn’t even sure Reno could read, given his patchy upbringing in the slums. But obviously he had passed his written exam to become a Turk, so perhaps that was Tseng making inappropriate assumptions about orphan grounders. He resigned himself to the fact that he would not have any peace now that Reno had arrived, so he placed a bookmark inside his book and set it down on the table next to his chair.

“You only read comic books,” Rude said, sitting down next to Reno and taking a bite of an outlandishly large sandwich.

“Who asked you?” Reno barked.

This back and forth continued until Tseng felt ready to pull his hair out. He was just about to get up and retire to the executive office when the door to the break room opened again and another familiar face stepped in, one Tseng hadn’t seen in several months.

“Who missed me?” Legend asked, sauntering into the room with a broad grin. “Tseng, looking slick as usual.”

“Legend,” Tseng sighed. “Back from another mission I suppose?”

Since passing their exams they had seen very little of one another. Most of their interactions had been brief greetings while training the rookies, and noticing each other across the long meeting room table during the Turks’ yearly group meeting. Tseng didn’t mind Legend’s absence in his life - he had been difficult to deal with as a rookie and a few years of operating as an actual Turk had gone straight to his head.

Legend sat on the arm of Tseng’s chair and slung his arm around Tseng’s shoulder. Tseng attempted to shrug him away to no avail.

“Come on, admit it,” Legend said. “You missed me. When’s the last time we shot the shit?”

Tseng hated that expression. “Please.” He said firmly.

Legend let go of him, but remained on the arm of the chair. “Yeah, yeah. You and your personal space. And how are these charming young sprouts?”

“Who you callin’ sprout, old man?” Reno curled his lip.

“Old man?” Legend balked.

“None of us are old men,” Tseng muttered.

“You just let them talk to you like this?” Legend asked, elbowing Tseng in the side. 

Tseng groaned. “Mostly I try to ignore them. My mistake for thinking I might take a moment to read my book in peace.”

“Yeah, Chuckles here loves being left alone almost as much as he loves sticking his nose up Veld’s-”

“Reno!” Rude choked on his sandwich.

“ _Chuckles_?” Legend snorted and elbowed Tseng once more. “All right, that’s pretty good isn’t it? Oh, but you’re not laughing buddy.”

“Hence,” Reno gesticulated toward Tseng.

“You got a nickname for me, kid?”

“He’s three years younger than you,” Tseng pointed out, though absolutely no one bothered to listen to him. 

“Carrot Top, right?” Reno looked to Rude as if expecting his approval. Rude looked thoughtfully at Legend and nodded.

“Seems right.” 

“Tch, these newbies.” Legend rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Tseng. “Anyway, did you hear the good news? Veld wants me and you to go on a mission together.”

“Excuse me?” Tseng reeled. “Since when?” He fumbled with his phone and quickly opened his e-mail, mortified to find a message from twenty minutes earlier requesting his presence in Veld’s office at four for a mission briefing. There were no details on what the mission would entail. Legend peered over his shoulder to read the message and nodded.

“He called me from Junon and said he had something for you and me to take care of. The ole’ dream team back together.”

“We were never a ‘dream team’,” Tseng sighed, pocketing his phone. 

Typically, he handled missions on his own. Every once in a great while he might be partnered up with another Turk for a mission that truly required more than one mind, but unlike Reno and Rude who almost always ran missions together, Tseng preferred to work alone. He hadn’t worked with Legend since they were in academy and he hadn’t enjoyed it then. Now that Legend was a full-fledged Turk with an oversized ego to boot, Tseng was dreading it.

What exactly was Veld thinking?

“It’ll be a blast,” said Legend, sliding off the chair and waltzing over to the door. “I’ll meet you in the boss’s office.” He winked as he slipped out of the break room.

“What a tool,” Reno said once he was gone.

“Reno,” Tseng snapped, rising to his feet. “Legend is your superior.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Chuckles.”

Tseng fixed him with a stern frown and was pleased with the way Reno shrunk down in his chair. He was mouthy, but he usually reacted appropriately when Tseng got serious with him.

Reno sufficiently reprimanded - or as close to reprimanded as he was going to get - Tseng made his way out of the break room and down the hall to Veld’s office where he could hear Legend conversing loudly with Veld. Tseng didn’t need to eavesdrop to know it was Legend’s typical self-aggrandizing story telling. He stepped inside without knocking and shut the door quickly behind him.

There was a look of relief on Veld’s face as Tseng entered the office. Tseng knew, perhaps better than anyone, how arduous it was to be stuck alone in a room with Legend. 

“Ah, Chuckles, you made it,” Legend grinned.

“I’m disappointed to see your subordinates rubbing off on you,” Tseng said, taking a seat next to Legend. 

“No sense of humor, this guy,” Legend said to Veld, who exchanged a meaningful look with Tseng and ignored Legend entirely.

“I know both of you have grown accustomed to working alone on your assignments, but I have a mission that could utilize both of your skill-sets and I know from your training that you’re capable of working well together when the situation necessitates as much,” Veld began. “As you’re both aware, there are a number of anti-Shinra dissident groups popping up every day in Wutai independent from the government opposition to Shinra presence.”

That was a polite way of saying ‘the war in Wutai’, Tseng supposed.

“One of these groups recently managed to take a weapons trader hostage. Unfortunately, the trader they kidnapped is a very prominent figure in the war effort. Losing him would be a detrimental blow to Shinra’s capabilities in Wutai. The President has requested that we retrieve the dealer before the dissidents grow inpatient and send us his head in a tidy gift-wrapped package.”

“So we go to Wutai, pull this guy out, and leave?” Legend shrugged. “Sounds easy.”

“The base is reportedly heavily fortified,” Veld warned. “When they absconded with the weapons dealer they took a large portion of his stockpile with them. Destroy the base and return the dealer to Midgar. That is your assignment. A helicopter will await you on the roof tomorrow morning.” He paused, looking between Tseng and Legend. “You’re dismissed.”

Tseng was dismayed to find Legend on his tail as soon as they were out of the office, slinging his arm around Tseng's shoulder with that old, obnoxious familiarity as they walked.

“Do you mind?” Tseng snapped.

Legend dropped his arm. “So. Not interested in a little roll in the hay before we head out, huh?” He looked Tseng up and down thoughtfully. “Bet you’ve improved a bit since the last time.”

“No.” Tseng said, pressing his lips into a thin line. What he thought privately was, ‘Never again, not even if you were the last man on earth.’ But he kept this to himself and continued along down the hallway to the elevator.

“Harsh,” Legend sighed. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, buddy.”

Tseng frowned at him as the elevator doors closed in his face.

* * *

Before Tseng could head home, he was overdue for a visit to check on Aerith. So he made his way down to the Sector Five slums via the train. He preferred to take a helicopter purely to avoid the ire of the grounders when they noticed a Turk descending below the plate with them, but the train was faster at this time of day when demand for Shinra’s substantial helicopter fleet was always at its highest. 

In the three years since Tseng had been assigned to Aerith little had changed. Elmyra Gainsborough still detested his presence and made that apparent at every opportunity, flashing her gun as if Tseng wasn’t aware of exactly where she kept it at any given moment. Aerith had largely ignored Tseng for the first year or so, but as she grew more comfortable with his presence, she would sometimes ask Tseng to act as her bodyguard when she wandered the slums on her own. Considering the main reason for Tseng’s assignment to the girl was to keep her out of harm’s way, he obliged, following her around the slums silent and menacing and ensuring that no one came within a twenty foot radius of her.

This hadn’t lasted either.

“You’re too scary. You even scare away my friends!”

So now he mostly just lurked in the shadows where he could see her and step in to help if he needed to, but it never came to that. Aerith had a way with people that both inspired Tseng and filled him with envy. Even before it had been his job to play his cards close to the chest, Tseng had trouble forming meaningful social connections. Aerith, on the other hand, didn’t know a stranger, and everyone in the Sector Five slums seemed to love the girl and care for her like she was their own child.

Whether or not Tseng believed anything about the Promised Land or the President’s grand ideas for Neo Midgar, he at least believed that Aerith’s cooperation with Shinra could foster an era of peace Gaia had never truly known.

He kept all of this to himself of course.

That evening, he found himself standing on the dirt path that led through Aerith’s vast garden, holding two large wicker baskets while Aerith filled them with flowers. She took her time tending to each flower patch, pruning leaves, spritzing petals with water, picking only the most beautiful with the most delicate touch and laying them gingerly inside the baskets.

She was nearing her fourteenth birthday and had reached a level of acceptance with Tseng’s regular visits. Of course, some visits he was met with shouting and anger - she _was_ an emotionally labile teenager after all - but most of the time, she simply put Tseng to work helping her with tasks she couldn’t accomplish on her own. Lately, that had been assisting her with cleaning up an old church on the eastern edge of the sector, but today it was flower duty.

“This basket is going to the Leaf House,” Aerith explained, placing a brilliant yellow lily in the basket hanging from Tseng’s right arm. 

The Leaf House was an orphanage not far from Aerith’s house where she volunteered regularly. It seemed all Aerith did with her time was such admirable tasks. It made Tseng feel that it wasn’t just busywork watching over her: he was protecting someone who made the planet a better place.

“And the other basket?” Tseng asked.

“Oh, I’ll figure it out,” Aerith shrugged. She hummed as she knelt in the grass trimming the flowers. “Sometimes I give a bouquet to my mom. Or I’ll just pass them out around town. Flowers always brighten people’s day,” she looked up at Tseng and smiled, but quickly frowned when he didn’t return the gesture. “Don’t you ever smile?” She grumbled. “You’re always so serious.”

“I had a terrible accident when I first started with the Turks,” said Tseng, completely monotone. “I’m no longer able to smile.”

For a fleeting moment, it was clear Aerith thought he was being serious, but when she realized he was joking, she rolled her eyes and snorted. “Didn’t know you could tell jokes either.”

“Occasionally,” said Tseng, and he allowed himself a small smile at that.

A comfortable silence followed. Tseng was typically uncomfortable around children, but he could occasionally hold a conversation with Aerith, who often made comments that were wise beyond her years. Usually though, he just did whatever it was she asked of him without a word and left when his task was complete, content that she had remained safe and sound for another month. 

“Tseng?” Aerith asked, placing a few more flowers in the basket for the Leaf House.

“Yes?”

“Do you really kill people? I mean when you’re not down here checking on me.”

“I think you already know the answer, don’t you?” He asked.

She nodded, a sadness washing over her face. “I can hear their voices sometimes.”

Tseng hated the thought of it. More than once Aerith had made it clear that the planet, or rather the lifestream, could speak to her. He never though to verify with Veld or Hojo if such a thing was true of the Ancients or just legend - she spoke so ardently that he simply believed her at her word. To think that the souls of those he’d killed had somehow spoken to her made him uneasy. It was one thing for him to lead the life he did. An innocent young girl didn’t need to hear or know of such things.

Then again, Aerith wasn’t much younger than Tseng was when he first arrived in Midgar. And she wasn’t naive either, after a life spent beneath the plate.

And frankly if the pranks she pulled were any indication, she actually wasn’t as sweet and innocent as her looks suggested.

“Does it bother you?” Tseng asked.

“Of course. You people…Shinra…they killed my mother, you know.”

“I know,” Tseng said solemnly. When she didn’t say anything else, he realized what her true concern might be. “Aerith, I won’t hurt you. You understand that, don’t you?”

She placed another flower in the basket and met his gaze. “I know that you believe you won’t ever hurt me.”

And that was all she said on the matter. Another one of those odd moments where she spoke with the voice of an adult. Tseng didn’t press the issue. Even after three years, he could hardly blame her for being scared after all Shinra had done to her.

When both baskets had been filled, Tseng carried them back to the house, where he was allowed to set them on the table before Elmyra was shoving him back out the door and slamming it in his face. His monthly duty fulfilled, Tseng headed to the train station, back up above the plate to his apartment to prepare for his next mission.

* * *

“You ready for the time of your life, buddy?” It was far too early in the morning for Tseng to have to deal with Legend. Not even the energy drink he had downed earlier seemed to help.

“I’m ready to see this mission through,” Tseng replied, taking a seat in the co-pilot’s chair in the waiting helicopter. He knew from experience that Legend would try to arm wrestle him to decide who would pilot the chopper, and he was too tired to deal with that.

It didn’t escape Legend’s notice, however. He slid into the pilot’s seat with a frown. “Ah man, you’re no fun.”

“Let’s just focus on the mission,” Tseng suggested.

“Still as straight-laced as ever,” Legend scoffed, leading them up into the air. It would be a long trip to Wutai, made longer by being stuck in a helicopter with only each other for company. Legend didn’t like a space to be filled with silence, so he asked questions purely to pass the time - a habit that had driven Tseng insane when they shared a room during academy.

“So,” said Legend, “you seeing anyone?”

Tseng looked sideways at him and quirked an eyebrow. “Seeing someone? As if that’s possible for a Turk.”

“Is if you want it bad enough. Of course I couldn’t ever settle down for long enough. But I mean, look at the chief. He had a wife and kid.”

“Excuse me?” Tseng hadn’t expected to be genuinely intrigued. 

Legend was better than anyone at blowing hot air, almost as bad of a gossip as Reno, but the information was interesting if it was true. Veld never spoke about his personal life and Tseng held it as a general rule of thumb not to pry into his coworkers’ lives, let alone his superiors’. Legend said this made Tseng seem ‘unfriendly’ and ‘unapproachable’ as though it were a bad thing - shouldn’t someone in their line of work be just that?

“Oh yeah, that’s what happened with his arm. Big raid on Kalm to weed out some anti-Shinra so and so. Guess he had a family living there but they got killed in the blast.” Legend shrugged.

“And how do you know about this?”

“Because, brainiac,” Legend flicked Tseng on the forehead, “some of us don’t follow the rules. I snoop around in files when I wanna find stuff out. You know…like a spy.”

Tseng rubbed his forehead with a scowl, “You shouldn’t spy on your own people.”

“Shows what you know. And to think the chief is grooming _you_ to be his replacement. You have to know who your people are.”

“That’s what proper vetting is for,” Tseng argued.

“Yeah? And what if I snooped and found out Veld was working to undermine the Turks? Or Shinra? Isn’t that worth knowing? You find rot inside you gotta nip it in the bud, but sometimes the rot is well hidden, you get my drift? Anyway, I’ll take your answer to my initial question as a resounding ‘no’. At least tell me you’re getting out and getting laid on occasion.”

Tseng pursed his lips and stared out the window. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“A guy as tightly wound as you?” Legend laughed loudly. “You gotta release some steam somehow, buddy. Besides, I know better than anyone that you’re more human than you let on.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Tseng groaned.

“I’ll never let you forget, pal!”

By the time they reached Wutai, after several stops to refuel, the sun was setting behind the mountain peaks along the horizon. The base they were searching for was hidden in the dense jungles of central Wutai, which meant they were likely to encounter potential guerrilla troops on the lookout for any Shinra presence, in addition to the anti-Shinra dissidents who had captured the arms dealer.

Tseng opened the door of the helicopter and was hit with a wave of humidity. It was his first time setting foot in his father’s homeland and for the first time in many years, he thought of his parents and wondered if they were still alive, or if they had been one of the many casualties of the war. And what of his two younger sisters? They had surely gone to Wutai alongside his parents.

A little pang of emotion welled in his chest and he pushed it down. There was a mission to see through, and the battles Shinra was waging were nowhere near this part of the country.

Ahead of the clearing where Legend landed the chopper, a vast jungle spread over the foothills surrounding the snow-peaked mountains to the west. Legend led the way into the jungle and Tseng followed, keeping his eyes and ears open to any signs of danger. In addition to the threat of Wutaian military forces, there were wild animals and monsters within the woods to contend with. 

“Fuck it’s hot,” Legend groaned after several minutes of hiking. “I guess you’re more used to it than me.”

Tseng glowered at him. Legend knew nothing about Tseng’s past, but assumed he was from Wutai just as everyone else assumed. “I’ve never been to Wutai in my life.” He would not add that it was equally hot and humid in Mideel and so, yes, technically he was somewhat used to this type of climate.

“What, really? You’re all fluent and everything.”

“Well, I’m obviously Wutaian,” Tseng rolled his eyes. “My father is from here. You may not know this, but people are capable of emigrating.”

“Okay, wise guys, sorry I made an assumption,” Legend sighed.

They continued walking in silence. By the time they reached the dissident base, the sun had set and they were forced to wear their night-vision goggles to avoid attracting attention with any flashlights. Legend and Tseng crouched at the edge of a clearing where a surprisingly small set of prefabricated units stood in stacks facing each other.

“All these rinky-dink operations,” Legend huffed. “They have to hide because they know if Shinra found them they’d be toast like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“Be that as it may, they still managed to capture an important Shinra agent. Size clearly isn’t everything.”

“Don’t rag on yourself like that man, you’re packing plenty of heat.” Legend laughed.

“Could you be serious for five seconds?” Tseng growled. “What’s our plan of action here?”

“I’m gonna plant some explosives along the base of those units,” Legend explained. “You want to sweep the inside and look for the arms dealer or go in together?”

“I can handle the base,” said Tseng. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his legs. “Stay in touch on the comms. I’ll call for backup if it’s needed.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tseng chided.

“Hey, just practicing for when you take over for the chief.”

They parted ways and while Legend sneaked to the edge of the base to begin planting charges, Tseng scaled the side of one of the units and observed the central clearing around which the units had been placed. A handful of men and women stood guard on sentry duty, holding unwieldy guns they were clearly unaccustomed to. 

It was unsurprising to find a seemingly insignificant dissident group like this hiding in the jungles of Wutai. There were likely a hundred more groups like this, with new ones springing up every day: angry citizens tired of living in a war-ravaged country or else others with a gripe against Shinra who knew they could find support with the Wutaians. What _was_ surprising was that this ‘rinky-dink operation’, as Legend put it, had captured a powerful Shinra player.

Perhaps the arms dealer was an idiot; he wouldn’t be the only powerful man at Shinra who was.

After a moment of observing the sentries, Tseng noticed an unguarded door on the north facing side of the unit across the clearing. Whether they had left it unguarded out of negligence or over-confidence, it didn’t much matter to Tseng. He would be able to break in either way. So he wound his way around the base, overrode the lock on the door, and slipped inside to find himself in a dimly lit hallway.

There was, unfortunately, no relief from the humidity inside, not that Tseng had expected as much. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he moved swiftly and silently down the hallway, peering into rooms and listening for any sounds. He encountered a man with a rifle in his arms as he turned the corner, but before the man could cry out, Tseng struck with swift and precise movements of his arms, rendering the man unconscious. He emptied his weapon and placed the clips in his pocket before continuing on his way.

Tseng could have given these people a few tips about the importance of shift workers and proper security. He encountered no one else until he reached the room he suspected the arms dealer was being kept in, primarily because it was the _only_ room with sentries outside the door. How could fools like this expect to ever outwit or overpower Shinra when they didn’t understand subterfuge? 

Two people, likely untrained, would not be a challenge for Tseng. He rushed the first sentry and wrenched their head, snapping their neck and leaving them to crumple on the ground while the second sentry fumbled for her gun. Before she could even cock it, Tseng’s hand chopped down against her arm and snapped the bone. She let out a yelp of surprise and Tseng caught her before she could hit the ground. He held her up by her hair while she grimaced and clawed ineffectively at his hands.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Turk,” she spat.

“How did you get your hands on the arms dealer?”

“Fucking idiot got ambushed by some guerilla fighters up north.” Did she think Tseng was going to spare her life if she gave him this information? He didn’t even have to seriously threaten her and already she had opened the floodgates. These amateurs were pathetic. A rookie could have handled this mission. “They passed him off to us. Figured we could negotiate some trade with Shinra for his life.”

“Blackmail. The fighters weren’t doing you a favor,” Tseng corrected, “they knew Shinra would send us after such an important asset. They were hedging their bets. If you were successful, I suspect they were promised a share of your spoils?”

The woman’s eyes went wide with sudden terror as the realization that they had been played dawned on her.

“As I thought,” Tseng continued. “They placed the risk of capture onto you and whatever idiot is running this group.” He almost felt sorry for her, but there was no room for pity in a Turk’s line of duty. “Take solace in the fact that your death will be swift and painless.”

“Plea-” She opened her mouth to beg for her life and Tseng snapped her neck.

Now he would have answers for Veld when they returned. Of course, the most important aspect of the job was bringing back the arms dealer, but if he could glean a little more knowledge about Shinra’s enemies, that was important intel for the Turks to have in their back pocket. 

Tseng easily picked the lock on the door and stepped inside to find the arms dealer tied to a chair and sporting a few cuts and bruises, but otherwise unharmed. Tseng had been anticipating an older gentleman, someone like Heidegger really, but the man he found tied up in the room wasn’t much older than Tseng himself, with a pair of round sunglasses that reminded him of Legend.

“Oh thank _fuck_ ,” the dealer said. “I knew Shinra would send someone for me eventually. Didn’t realize it would be a bona fide Turk.”

Tseng pulled a knife from his belt and cut the ropes binding the man to the chair. “I’m Tseng. My colleague is planting charges outside to destroy this base, so we had better hurry up. Can you walk?”

“Yeah. They didn’t break my legs or anything. I’m Hugh by the way.”

His file had only listed his codename. Arms dealers under Shinra’s employ often went by aliases, much like the Turks, for their safety as well as Shinra’s. Tseng didn’t particularly care what his name was.

As they stepped back into the hallway, Hugh glanced at the dead bodies with his mouth agape. “You kill them?”

“How many men have you killed?” Tseng asked.

“Not as many as a Turk, that’s for damn sure. Cold-blooded, ain’t ya?”

“Keep quiet. We don’t want to alert anyone to our presence.”

Hugh the arms dealer thankfully listened to Tseng’s request, following him back along the route he’d taken until they were back outside in the dark of the jungle. Tseng slipped his night-vision goggles back on and Hugh groped blindly behind him until they found Legend setting the last charge on the southern edge of the base.

“Any trouble?” Legend asked, not looking up from his work.

“No. They sent us to deal with amateurs. Though I suppose Veld had no way of knowing purely from drone footage.”

“Yeah, some of these yahoos are the real deal and some of them are just small-fry wannabes, you know?” Legend stepped back and appraised his work. “Should be set.” He looked up and his face fell. “What the fuck is this? Hugh?”

Hugh squinted and moved closer in the dark. “Oh fuck. Kord?”

“You fucking kidding me? You rat bastard!”

Before Tseng could fully surmise what was going on, Legend launched himself onto Hugh and the to of them went tumbling through the dirt. Hugh was too weak to overpower a Turk, though he certainly put up a good fight. The spat ended as quickly as it began, Legend pinning Hugh to the ground with a scowl.

“What the hell is going on Legend?” Tseng demanded. “We need to blow this place and get out of here!”

“This asshole is the one who sold me out to Shinra! I could have died you stupid fuck!” Legend slammed his fist into Hugh’s cheek. Spittle and blood spattered across his chin.

“Let it go. We have a job to do,” Tseng hissed. “You didn’t die. You became a Turk instead, so what do you care?”

“No surprise you’ve still got your nose as far up Shinra’s ass as you can stick it,” Legend said, ignoring Tseng entirely.

The situation was absurd. Veld should have sent Tseng to take care of this alone. How had it slipped past Veld that the arms dealer was a former of associate of Legend’s?

“Oh-ho if that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black! Whose noses are further up Shinra’s ass than the Turks?” Hugh retorted.

“I’m not a Turk by choice you spineless sack of shit.”

“Legend!” Tseng moved to intervene, gripping the back of Legend’s shirt and trying to pry him away from Hugh, but before he could do much of anything, Legend whipped his pistol from its holster and fired off a shot point blank between Hugh’s eyes.

For a moment, Tseng stood staring at Hugh’s body in disbelief. 

“Sorry, man.” Legend stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I had to do it. That fucker doesn’t deserve to live after the shit he pulled.”

Tseng stared at Legend. He was so furious he couldn’t think straight. Legend had compromised the entire mission because of a foolish grudge. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times.

“Come on, man, you’re freaking me out. Say something.”

“Light the charges and let’s go,” said Tseng quietly before turning and walking away into the jungle.

They didn’t wait around for the blast but they heard and saw it as they made their way wordlessly back to the helicopter. There would be nothing left of the base except ashes by morning. Every time Legend tried to speak, Tseng fixed him with a look so stern that the words died in his throat. The entire flight back to Midgar was spent in a cold and uncomfortable silence.

Tseng was certain he had never been so angry in his life. A mission run with a partner was a mission both parties were responsible for. How had Legend been so cavalier about ruining things for them? What would their punishment from Veld be?

Midgar came into view with the early-morning sun. Twenty-four hours. That was all it took for Tseng’s future to be washed down the drain by a foolish act he had no control over. Legend tried to shrug it off, ‘We’ll fill the chief in later today, after we’ve had time to rest on it’, but Tseng forced him along to Veld’s office to debrief immediately.

Veld listened thoughtfully as Tseng took the initiative in recounting the events. Occasionally Legend piped in, but he stopped just as quickly when Tseng fixed him with a glare. Not once did Veld betray how he felt about the matter. When all was said and done, he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.

“Do you refute Tseng’s claims?” he asked Legend.*

Legend shook his head. “No, boss, it’s just like he said. I shot him. He fucked me over and he deserved it. I’d do it again. I’m sorry I fucked the mission up, I really am. But he got what was coming. And anyway there’s one less anti-Shinra group running around causing trouble.”

“They were amateurs. We were doing the bare minimum,” Tseng protested. He fell silent when Veld held his hand up.

“Legend, your lapse in judgment will have serious consequences for Shinra’s efforts in Wutai, as well as for the Turks. The President will not be happy to hear about this. I should make you tell him yourself, but I won’t. You will be punished for this indiscretion, however,” Veld said.

Were they going to kill him? Tseng’s heart sank unexpectedly. He had been so furious with Legend the entire way back to Midgar, but he didn’t want him _terminated_. At the end of the day, he was Tseng’s only peer in the Turks, whether he could stand him or not.

“You will be placed under house arrest in Costa del Sol for the foreseeable future. No missions. A Turk and a SOLDIER will be assigned to monitor you.”

“ _What!?_ ” Tseng balked. If termination seemed too extreme, this punishment seemed far too light. “He compromised a serious mission and you’re just giving him a paid vacation?”

“You forget yourself, Tseng,” Veld said firmly, though not without kindness.

Tseng nodded. “I’m sorry, sir. Whatever punishment you see fit is appropriate, of course.”

“I will not be punishing you. You carried out your mission to your fullest capability. You’re dismissed.”

“See you in another decade maybe,” Legend said as Tseng rose to his feet. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

Tseng heard Veld begin to lecture Legend about the seriousness of the matter at hand as he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. The fact of the matter was that he was too tired to even think straight, clothes stained with sweat, body covered in filth from the jungle. Legend was being punished for his failure and Tseng wasn’t, which was as good an outcome as he could get from this terrible situation. So he returned home, washed up, and fell onto the bed to sleep away the day until he received his next assignment.

What he would only realize much later was they he had learned the valuable lesson that even though he always strove to control for every possible variable, he couldn’t control others. It was something Veld already knew as chief, but something Tseng had to learn to take his place one day. The best he could hope for was a group of operatives who knew where to draw the line. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of fun writing Tseng doing Turk stuff and I also enjoy the juxtaposition of that with like, you know, holding flower baskets for Aerith while he babysits her. And honestly I write so much smut and romance in other fics that this slowburn is nice because it gives me lots of time to just explore the characters themselves. Anyway I hope you're enjoying and thanks for reading. More soon!


	7. Fresh Meat

If Rufus Shinra had to sit through another meeting of his father spewing Lazard Deusericus’ praises he was going to put a bullet between his eyes. It was bad enough that for the last year, Rufus had been forced to bear the bastard’s presence at every board meeting - on top of that, his father and the other executives were always tripping over themselves to praise his success with the SOLDIER program and his victories in Wutai.

The whole affair was disgusting. And Rufus didn’t trust Lazard’s nice-guy routine. No one responsible for the war crimes occurring in Wutai could possibly be a genuinely _nice_ person beneath it all. Rufus was sure he had an ulterior motive and if he weren’t so busy working his way into his father’s good graces to earn his _rightful_ place in the company, he would have done some more digging into his father’s bastard. As it was, he had already hacked into some of the Turks’ files solely to read up on Lazard’s background. The fact that he hadn’t been caught was another point against keeping the Turks around when he took over.

Rather than be forced to look at Lazard while the President sang his praises, Rufus settled for staring at Tseng. He was always nice to look at, and he _hated_ when Rufus glowered at him. Rufus had come to enjoy making the Turk uncomfortable whenever he could, which was far more frequently than he guessed either of them would have preferred: Tseng was Veld’s first choice anytime the President wanted a Turk on Rufus’ detail.

When the President and Heidegger were done vomiting up their opinions on Lazard, Rufus tuned back in to listen to the company updates. Reeve reported on new highway construction, Palmer reported on development of a rocket (read: waste of Shinra’s money), Heidegger gave updates on casualties in Wutai as well as local SOLDIER assignments, Scarlet gave a detailed report on a new prototype mech that could be on the ground in Wutai in the next month, and Hojo said nothing at all about his own projects. Instead he inquired about Sephiroth, to which Lazard replied they could discuss the matter privately after the meeting.

Rufus was curious about Sephiroth and his meteoric rise to fame, but not enough to waste his time on it.

“And you, Veld? Any new updates?” The President asked.

“We have a batch of new recruits beginning training this week along side Lazard’s new set of SOLDIER candidates,” Veld explained.

Rufus scoffed. More rats scurrying around the basement levels of headquarters doing his father’s dirty work.

“Very good. If that is all, this meeting is adjourned. Rufus, I’d like you to stay behind for a few minutes.”

Whenever his father asked him to stay behind after a meeting it was usually to chew his ass out about something he had done. But Rufus couldn’t think of anything he had done recently to earn his father’s ire. In fact, for the last year he had been diligently kissing his father’s ass, as much as it sickened him to do so. He stopped going out to clubs with a huge entourage, stopped ending up in tabloids, and logged late hours assisting his father with work all so that he could prove his worth to a father who was always holding his future at the company just out of his reach.

Rufus walked to the end of the table where his father sat lighting his cigar and wrinkled his nose at the smell. He had never enjoyed the smell of cigars, but since quitting smoking he liked it even less. His father had smoked them for as long as he could remember and the scent of them made his stomach sour irrespective of the actual odor they put out.

“Mr. President?” Rufus asked. He had not called his father any sort of paternal name in some time now.

“Sit down, Rufus.”

Rufus complied, though his instinct whenever his father ordered him to do anything was to do the opposite.

“You’ve been keeping your nose to the grindstone lately, haven’t you son?” He asked, not meeting Rufus’ gaze, instead thumbing through messages on his phone with a look of disinterest.

“Yes, sir.”

“You provided some useful suggestions during our last meeting regarding the war. And Scarlet said you drafted some ideas for new rifles.”

Rufus wanted to ask him to get to the fucking point, but he bit back the words and nodded.

“I’ve decided it’s time to give you a proper position in this company.” The president looked away from his phone and fixed Rufus with a stern frown, “This isn’t a guarantee you have a permanent place here. Don’t forget that. If you want to succeed, you have to continuously prove to me you deserve to be at this table.”

_Yes, yes, I’ll never be good enough for you._

“I’m making you Vice President effective tomorrow. My secretary has an e-mail drafted about the appointment that will go out tomorrow morning.”

Rufus bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.”

This position should have been his three years ago, but he would take it. Now he was a literal heartbeat away from the presidency. As long as his father didn’t demote him on an angry whim, he could focus his efforts on dismantling his father’s stranglehold on the executives and take his place on the throne.

“Don’t take this for granted, boy,” the President growled, blowing a cloud of smoke in Rufus’ face. “If you fuck it up, you won’t get a second chance.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now go. We’ll discuss the nitty gritty later. You have studies to worry about.”

That was true, though Rufus didn’t devote nearly enough of his time to his ‘studies’. In addition to being a socialite, helping his father run Shinra, and trying to undermine his father in secret, he also studied at the university in Junon. His father thought he was getting a useless degree in politics, but he was actually studying engineering. What skill could be more useful in a city like Midgar? It didn’t take a genius to understand how to rule people (he would just do the opposite of the shit his father was pulling), but it did take real brains to understand mako energy and how a reactor powered a city.

Rufus stepped out of the board room to make his way back to his apartment. He wouldn't have to leave for Junon until the following morning. To his annoyance, when the elevator doors opened, Tseng stood with his shoulders squared. He greeted Rufus with the faintest hint of a frown.

“What, does Veld have you lurking around the elevators for patrols now?” Rufus asked.

“No, sir. Sometimes people use elevators to get from one place to another,” Tseng responded without affect.

“How clever of you.”

Ever since Tseng had called him a cunt a year earlier, he had been toeing the line of professionalism with his dry sarcasm. Rufus would have found it charming if he weren’t a fucking Turk.

They rode in a stony silence down to the first floor, where Rufus stepped off, knowing Tseng was headed down to the basement levels to Turk headquarters. No one besides the Turks had ever seen the inside of their headquarters - except perhaps the President - but even he didn’t technically have access. In order to protect Shinra’s secrets, Veld argued, they must be allowed the utmost privacy. The President just turned a blind eye to that absurd request the same way he turned a blind eye to Hojo’s atrocities. He threw money at things without understanding them and it infuriated Rufus.

His father had probably been a competent leader at some point: after all, he had built Shinra into the mako superpower it was today. But the rapid growth the company experienced had gone to his head. He had become bloated by his wealth and power and it kept him from seeing the forest for the trees. The war in Wutai was hemorrhaging far more gil than a reactor on the island would ever gain them back, but for Rufus’ father, actions were more about proving a point than doing what was best for the company.

When Rufus was president, things were going to change. Hopefully that day came sooner rather than later.

* * *

“FRESH MEAT!”

Rude looked up as Reno let out a whoop and hopped onto the table in the break room where, until that moment, Rude had been enjoying a quiet, peaceful lunch free of Reno’s presence.

“Excuse me?” Rude looked down his sunglasses at Reno as he squatted in front of him on the table.

“New recruits are starting today,” Reno announced.

Emma, the only other Turk in the break room at the moment, glanced up from her spot by the window. “You were fresh meat not that long ago,” she reminded them.

“So what?” Reno barked. “You want me to go easy on them? You weren’t easy on us.”

“I didn’t say that,” Emma replied. “Just remember you’re still leagues away from being good enough to make executive.”

“Well,” Reno pushed his nose back with his thumb childishly, “Sorry we can’t all be perfect like you and Chuckles.”

Emma crossed the room and Rude winced as she grabbed Reno by the hair and yanked him onto his ass. He let out a yelp and swatted at her hands, but she held his ponytail in a vicegrip. “If you aren’t careful, Reno, you’re going to go the same way as Legend. So _watch it_. And I’ll be watching you when we’re training the recruits. I don’t want you filling their heads full of rumors and hearsay.”

She let go of Reno and he fell onto his back with a _thump_. As Emma left the break room, Reno turned to look at Rude with an expression of disbelief.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Rude said with a shrug.

“Personally I heard Legend’s living in the lap of luxury on house arrest right now so if I’m following in his footsteps then-”

“Reno,” Rude said firmly. “Legend is lucky he didn’t end up in the incinerator and we all know it.”

“Sheesh,” Reno rolled off the table and slumped into the chair across from Rude. “Why you gotta be so serious all the damn time?”

“One of us has to,” Rude muttered.

It had been his luck that after they finished academy, Veld had been so impressed with their teamwork that he had officially partnered them together. Every Turk went on group missions eventually, but some Turks worked most of their missions alone and others worked primarily with a partner. Rude wasn’t sure who he pissed off in a past life - or maybe this one (he wouldn’t have put it past Rufus Shinra to hold a grudge) - to get him stuck with Reno for what could possibly be the rest of his career, but it had been an exercise in patience from day one.

Some days, it was fine. Reno may have been an obnoxious loudmouth, but he was also fun to be around and could navigate the city unlike anyone Rude had met. He just hadn’t quite figured out yet if all of Reno’s positive traits outweighed the negative ones. On missions, it was sometimes like a switch got flipped and Reno turned into a serious professional, but other times he let his temper get the better of him and more than once it had put both him and Rude in danger.

Today was a day Rude didn’t particularly feel like dealing with Reno.

“You see the schedule?” Reno asked, leaning back and tapping his foot rapidly against the floor.

“I saw it.”

Rude and Reno were responsible for giving the new recruits a tour of the building, including a Turk rite of passage: watching the new SOLDIER recruits receive their mako treatment. Watching it once had been enough for a lifetime as far as Rude was concerned. Turks got culled at the end of training, SOLDIERS got culled at the beginning and in a far less savory manner.

“Looks like we’ve got five new ones this time. Wonder what proficiencies they’ll go with.”

The door to the break room opened and Tseng stepped in, scanning the room and focusing on Reno with a frown. Rude had never seen Tseng smile, but his expression was typically neutral unless Reno was around. In fact, Rude was pretty sure Tseng had a special scowl he reserved just for Reno.

“Hey Chuckles, what’s up?”

“Excuse me?” Tseng quirked an eyebrow.

“I said ‘ _Hey Chuckles, what’s up_?” Tseng’s frowned deepened, eyebrows knitting together until Reno tugged uncomfortably at his shirt and added, “I mean, ‘What can we do for you, sir?’”

“You can get up and follow me into the lecture hall to meet our new trainees. You’ll be escorting them through the building.” Tseng turned his attention to Rude. “Please keep him on a short leash.”

“Damn, I’m right here,” Reno grumbled.

“No gossip, Reno,” Tseng said sternly. “I don’t want the trainees coming back speculating about the monsters Hojo keeps in his lab.”

“But he does!” Reno protested. “I-”

Tseng held up his hand to silence him. “Reno.”

“All right, all right. Fine. You’re no fun.”

“Yes well, I’ll be sure to add ‘Fun-ruiner’ to my ID tag. Just for you.”

Rude chuckled and Reno glared at him. Tseng, for all his seriousness and his overbearing presence, could occasionally be funny in a dry sort of way which Rude appreciated, but which sometimes flew over the heads of their other colleagues, Reno included.

Finishing the last of his meal, Rude stood up and followed Tseng, Reno hurrying after them with a pointed ‘wait up long-legs’ that could have been directed at either of them. Rude hadn’t been inside the lecture hall since their own training finished just over a year ago. He didn’t miss the long hours spent listening to Veld talk about the history of Shinra.

Inside were five fresh-faced young teenagers holding their new weapons and chatting excitedly amongst each other. When Tseng cleared his throat, a silence fell over the room and they turned with rapt attention. Tseng had a way of commanding a room like that, though he also seemed to shy away from any expectation of leadership, delegating immediately to Reno and Rude in lieu of an introductory speech.

“Reno and Rude will show you around the building now,” he said. “Please do not stray from the group. If we find out you’ve been sneaking into restricted areas your training will be terminated.”

He left the room without another word.

“That was Tseng,” said Reno, leaning against a lectern at the front of the hall. “Don’t mind him, he’s just got a stick up his-”

“Leave your weapons here,” Rude interrupted. “The tour will take an hour.”

“An hour for this whole building?” asked a girl at the front. Her hair was pulled into a thick bushy ponytail and she held a shotgun in her arms in a manner that suggested she was comfortable with the weapon before she ever chose it as her proficiency.

“Not the whole building, brainless,” Reno said. “Don’t talk unless we tell you to.”

“Reno,” Rude sighed. Reno looked at him and shrugged as if he couldn’t possibly imagine what he had done to upset anyone. That was just Reno’s way: talk first, think later.

“Well, let’s get going,” Reno barked, tapping his mag rod against the lectern. “Chop chop!”

Rude took the lead and as the group began to follow him, he heard Reno say, “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Spinning on his heels in anticipation of an altercation, Rude found Reno accosting the last in line: a slim boy of maybe seventeen with slick black hair gelled into odd spikes. The boy looked at Reno with a disinterested frown.

“Maybe. I’ve seen lots of Turks around the Wall Market.”

“Wall Market!” Reno shouted, shoving the kid against the door frame. “I know you, you little twerp. You worked Don Corneo’s place.”

“Hey man!” The kid growled, shoving back at Reno. “What the fuck else do you do to get anywhere down there?”

“Well I never fucking stooped so low and here I am so-”

Rude stepped between them, prying Reno away from the kid. “You got a name, kid?”

“They said I’m supposed to go by Two-Guns now,” he replied with only slightly less of an edge to his voice than he’d had with Reno.

“Well, Two-Guns, listen up,” said Rude, gripping the collar of his shirt while the other trainees looked on with rabid interest. “You assault your superior officer again and you’re going to be in for a brutal punishment. Do we have an understanding?” He lowered his sunglasses to look the kid directly in the eye, but there wasn’t a glint of fear there.

 _That_ was just like Reno too. Grounders, most especially grounders from sector six, didn’t seem to be afraid of much of anything.

“Yeah, all right. I get it. The Don had rules too.”

“That’s right!” Reno spat from behind Rude’s shoulder. “Rude’s got fists of steel! Don’t you, partner?” Reno smacked him in the arm.

“Let’s just do our jobs.”

Rude stepped away from both of them and Reno shot Two-Guns one more scowl before scurrying along after Rude like a bug. Reno moved so fast sometimes that Rude wouldn’t have been surprised if he did have six legs. They led the group of trainees, now sufficiently silent after the altercation, into the elevator and up to the lobby to begin their tour.

“We don’t have to take the stairs all the way to the top for this tour, do we?” Shotgun asked.

“What did I say about talking?” Reno groaned. “Anyway stairs are good exercise.”

Rude didn’t publicly address that Reno always bitched and moaned when he made him take the stairs.

The tour didn’t in fact take the stairs or it would have lasted forever. Rude gave a general overview of the floors beyond the lobby as they took the elevator up to the sixty-ninth floor, as far as they would go. The President didn’t allow tours through his office, but they could observe the executive suite on the sixty-ninth floor before making their way down.

“The first forty or so levels are mostly offices and labs for the various departments,” Rude explained. “After floor forty-five you get into more executive-level access. Turks have access to _most_ of the building, but Professor Hojo’s lab is off limits without special permission.”

“Is it true he-” one of the recruits began.

Rude held his hand up to silence them. “Reno and I have never been inside Hojo’s lab so we can’t tell you anything.”

The trainees looked disappointed at this information but seemed to accept it.

The tour continued on past more executive offices, past Hojo’s lab, which they were only allowed to see the door of, down to the conference rooms on the sixty-fourth floor.

“Most of our meetings are down in our own conference room, but the chief might call you up to a meeting here from time to time if there’s an assignment involved,” Rude explained.

“Mostly Tseng gets invited to the big wig meetings,” Reno grumbled.

“Is he the chief’s second in command?” Shotgun asked.

“Why so many questions?” Reno barked.

Rude sighed. “The answer is yes,” then added, more quietly, “Don’t mention it around Emma. She’s been here longer than Tseng.”

Excited chatter rippled through the group, but they stopped at what they must have interpreted as a stern look from Reno. Reno _was_ in fact capable of being fearsome - in battle, he sometimes looked like a wild animal - but right now he looked like a kid playing pretend at being an adult, trying to be imposing. The recruits seemed scared enough but Rude had to stop himself from laughing at Reno’s ‘tough-guy’ pose.

“The sixty-third floor is where the administrative offices for Urban Planning are located,” Rude explained, continuing along the tour. “You’ll encounter Director Tuesti from time to time, but mostly he’s holed up in his office.”

The tour continued through the rec center, which the group spent the most time oo-ing and aw-ing over - ‘This is way better than our space downstairs’. Materia storage was on the sixty-third floor, the archives and the mayor’s office on the sixty-second - ‘I heard Mayor Domino isn’t even real, I heard he’s just a hologram’ followed by a swift ‘Shut up, you morons’ from Reno.

“We’re bypassing the Shinra Museum for this tour,” Rude said. “Feel free to come back on your day off. Turks get in free.”

The tour ended at Skyview Hall on the fifty-ninth floor. Visitors and other employees milled about observing the stunning circular view of Midgar in all its glory, spread out around them nearly as far as the eye could see. Rude allowed the recruits some time to observe the view themselves, their black suits and the implication therein attracting plenty of stares.

“Were we this stupid looking?” Reno asked, tapping his mag rod against his leg.

“It’s only been a year since we finished academy, Reno.” Rude rolled his eyes. “But we were also a lot older than them to start with.” Rude had just celebrated his twenty-third birthday, and Reno was almost twenty-one. Rude was certain the recruits kept getting younger and younger.

“I don’t like that Two-Guns,” Reno said.

“Better not mention it around Veld. Group cohesion is important.”

“Yeah well,” Reno scoffed, “we’ll just see if he makes it through academy.”

When the recruits had had their fill of the view, the group made their way down to the forty-ninth floor where SOLDIER headquarters was located. Rude found it a little unfair that SOLDIER was technically under the same department as the Turks, but while the Turks were shoved down in the basement levels with a view of the slums out their windows, the SOLDIERS got a prime spot near the executives. It just went to show how much the President thought of the ones doing the majority of his dirty work for him.

“Aren’t Turks and SOLDIERS enemies or something?” Two-Guns asked. “I’ve seen a lot of fist fights break out between them in the slums.”

“A lot?” Reno prodded.

“SOLDIERS are our counterparts,” Rude ignored him.

“Brains versus brawn, huh?” Asked one of the recruits.

Reno nodded sagely, as though it were the first smart thing any of the recruits had said. “Sure, but don’t say it to Lizard’s face.”

“Really, Reno?” Rude groaned. “Director Deusericus has a good working relationship with the Turks. Some of his men are…standoffish…with Turks, but Turks help recruit new SOLDIERS. You shouldn’t start off here thinking they’re you’re enemy.”

Shotgun raised her hand, which earned her a withering look from Reno.

“Yes?” Rude asked.

“Will we get to see any of the firsts?”

“Oh yeah, will Sephiroth be here?” Another recruit asked.

“The firsts are all in Wutai, you idiots,” Reno barked.

They didn’t know that for a fact, but regardless, it was unlikely any of the firsts would show up to observe the mako shower. It was traumatizing enough for those who survived it. Rude sincerely doubted any of them cared to relive it.

Inside SOLDIER headquarters, Rude and Reno led the recruits down a hallway and through a door into a massive chamber lit only by the soft green glow of mako. The stench of it hit them immediately and while Reno and Rude were familiar enough with the smell to be somewhat used to it, the recruits coughed and covered their noses.

The group of them stood on a balcony looking down at the lower level of the room where the newest group of SOLDIER trainees - fifty in all, much larger than the Turks’ new class - were being organized into five rows of ten by a second-class. They had all been stripped of their armor and clothing.

“What are they doing?” Shotgun whispered to Two-Guns.

“This is a mako shower,” Rude explained. “All SOLDIERS are exposed to mako to enhance their abilities. Part of your training is to understand what SOLDIERS go through so that you can fully understand-” Rude almost said ‘your enemy’, but that wouldn’t have sat well after his speech that Turks and SOLDIERS were supposed to be friendly. The fact remained that if a SOLDIER went rogue, it was rarely other SOLDIERS sent to track them down and take care of them: that was a Turk’s job.

“You gotta know how strong the strongest of the bunch are if you stand a chance at neutralizing them if they piss Shinra off,” Reno finished for him.

“Right.”

They turned their attention back to the men and women standing below them. The second-class who had lined them up stepped away toward the far wall where he flipped a few switches and pulled a lever. It had been three years since Rude and Reno had to watch this display, but the images were still fresh in Rude’s mind. He didn’t particularly want to see it again, but there was a part of him that felt it was necessary not to look away.

A sprinkler system activated overhead, raining fluorescent droplets of mako down onto the recruits below, who stood stock still under the downpour with their eyes squeezed shut. For several seconds the room was silent except for the sound of the sprinklers and the mako droplets pelting against the metal flooring. Then the initiation truly began.

The first scream was followed by a body crumpling against the ground, fists pounding on metal as the SOLDIER recruit began to beg for it to stop.

“Please!” He cried. “It’s burning! It’s burning me!”

And it was. The skin on his arms had begun to slough off like it was paper, leaving behind blood and sinew exposed to the mako still pelting down on them. He writhed and screamed until the mako ate at his throat and his screaming became a sickening gurgle. Two more fell to a similar fate. Reno grimaced, but when one of the Turk recruits tried to look away, he grabbed them and forced them to look.

“You think any of you could survive this?” Reno asked, but there wasn’t an edge to his voice anymore - he sounded exhausted. When no one answered, he let go of the recruit who had looked away and said, “Keep watching. At least one of them won’t even flinch. That’s the one you want to keep your eyes on.”

Some of them didn’t react as poorly to the mako as the others, but it was obvious it was still causing them pain as it leeched into their bodies. Rude focused on one square-jawed young boy at the front who remained upright and unflinching throughout the process. He would be a second within a year or two if Rude had to guess.

The cries of those who could not survive the initiation rose to a cacophonous din. Some of them had their skin burned away, others didn’t react until the mako reached their insides. One of the recruits looked like he was handling the mako without insult until he dropped dead without warning.

When the sprinklers stopped, only six remained standing. Those who were still alive would not survive even if they were allowed medical intervention. Though Veld had long argued the Turks should be responsible for putting the men out of their misery, the President instead allowed Hojo to take their bodies to his lab.

Rude tried not to think too hard about how some of those men probably went on to live through experiments worse by far than the mako shower.

Reno led the group back out along the hallway to the elevator. There were no more questions after that final presentation. Instead, a somber silence had fallen over the group. As they stepped into the elevator and made their way back down to Turk headquarters on B3, Reno met Rude’s gaze and they exchanged a look of understanding.

It was a rare moment of seriousness for Reno. He had been badly affected by it during their academy training too.

Rude squeezed Reno’s shoulder.

Then they got back to business.

* * *

Tseng had been tasked with retrieving a stack of documents from Director Deusericus’ office to bring back down to Veld, which in itself was not a difficult or time consuming task, but the problem was that Tseng harbored a foolish crush on the director and had never really met him outside of the board room.

He handled worse than a workplace crush in his day-to-day, but he was awkward in a normal social situation and worried he might come off as socially inept to the very handsome and stylishly dressed director of SOLDIER.

Director Deusericus was, in Tseng’s opinion, the perfect solution to someone as beautiful as Rufus Shinra having such a rancid personality. The director had Rufus’ good looks with the exact opposite disposition. He was down-to-earth and friendly, always willing to engage in amiable conversation with his subordinates.

That just made it harder for Tseng to be around him of course.

Tseng put on his best neutral face and stepped into the director’s office, but he felt his ears warm the moment the director looked up from his desk with a broad smile.

“Ah, Tseng. Did you come to get the files Veld needed?”

Tseng cleared his throat, “Yes, sir.”

“Please,” The director leaned back in his chair. “You can just call me Lazard. I know we haven’t really met much outside of stuffy board meetings, but Veld sings your praises often.”

“Does he?” Tseng’s voice caught in his throat, which only served to make his face warmer than it already was.

“It sounds like you’re his most steadfast employee. In fact, we’ve been discussing putting you on assignment with some of my men in the future.”

Turks rarely got paired with SOLDIERS for assignments, mainly because a SOLDIER handled Shinra’s problems through brute force without any hint of subtlety while a Turk specialized in flying under the radar. If a Turk went out with extra muscle, it was typically just a security officer on loan from Heidegger.

“I look forward to that, sir,” Tseng lied. He had no interest in working with a SOLDIER at all if he could help it. “Er, I mean, Lazard.” It felt wrong to address a superior by his first name.

Lazard smiled and offered up a folder stuffed to the brim with papers. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Tseng’s stomach twisted as he took the folder. “Thank you. Have a good day.” And with that he turned on his heel so fast he nearly tripped over himself in his rush to get out of the room before his face betrayed him.

How embarrassing: Veld’s top man rendered useless by a pretty face.

Once he was safely in the elevator, he tucked the folder under his arm and pulled his phone out to catch up on e-mail. The first message in his inbox was an official announcement from the President.

“RUFUS SHINRA NAMED VICE PRESIDENT OF SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY.”

Tseng deleted the e-mail without opening it. As if Rufus’ head wasn’t big enough, now he had an actual say in how the company operated. Worse still, now he was just a heartbeat away from the presidency itself. Tseng shuddered at the thought.

As if the Gods themselves were testing him, the elevator stopped on the twentieth floor and Rufus stepped in, fixing Tseng with his typical pouting frown. Tseng wished Lazard were more handsome than Rufus, but this up close and personal with the new vice president, it simply wasn’t true. There was truly no justice in the world.

“We just keep running into each other, don’t we?” Rufus said by way of greeting. “You’re not spying on me are you?” He laughed and Tseng refused to meet his gaze.

“Our chief has actually been working with Professor Hojo on cloning his men. They made one of me for every floor,” Tseng said. “I’m the one who just rides in the elevator all day.”

Rufus smirked at him. “You’re quite funny, Tseng.”

Tseng pressed his lips into a thin line. “Congratulations on your new appointment, sir.”

“I suppose I’m _really_ your boss now,” said Rufus. “Officially I mean. But don’t worry.” He patted Tseng’s cheek condescendingly and, whether Tseng appreciated the gesture or not, his body reacted like a teenager to being touched by Rufus Shinra. “My father’s sending me off to Junon for a while to handle business for him there. I’m afraid this is the last you’ll see of me for a few months.”

“That’s a shame, sir.”

Rufus looked him up and down. “It is, isn’t it?”

Tseng was thankful when the elevator reached Rufus’ floor and he stepped out. “See you around, lapdog.”

Good fucking riddance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love love love to write Rufus and Tseng clearly being into each other but simultaneously hating each other. I also have fun writing deadpan Tseng. I'm almost at 100k words writing ahead for this and trying to take it steady since there's a lot ahead. Hopefully you're enjoying it. Thank you for reading! More soon!


	8. Lost and Found

Reno’s favorite spot in the entirety of Midgar was Skyview Hall. In all his eighteen years languishing in the Wall Market where his highest vantage point was the top of a particularly towering pagoda, he had never imagined he might one day be able to look out on the entirety of the city any time he liked. That the view came with a big fat paycheck and a slick suit didn’t hurt matters one bit.

Reno and Rude often took their breaks in Skyview Hall despite the break room afforded them down in the Turk’s headquarters. Their own break room came with a dismal view of the slums and lately it seemed to always be filled with the rookies hanging around in between lessons. Skyview Hall, in comparison, gave them a great view of the city outside the windows, and a usually fairly decent view of their coworkers from other floors at the other tables. Shinra hired a lot of good looking people and Reno had a large appetite.

While Reno leaned back in his chair observing a woman three tables away whose shirt was bordering on unprofessional - not that he could judge - Rude sat across from him chewing on his lunch and staring out the window thoughtfully.

“You gonna eat that?” Rude asked.

Reno tore his eyes away from the woman with some difficulty and looked down at the untouched side salad on his plate. “No, go for it, man.”

Rude grabbed the plate and began picking at it. “You know, you stare any harder and you’re gonna have an e-mail from HR when we get back downstairs.”

“Excuse me?” Reno scoffed. “It’s not against company policy to look is it?”

“Is that all you were planning on doing?” Rude asked gruffly.

“What’s it matter anyway?”

Rude shrugged and said nothing more. He was never quite as enthusiastic about similar pursuits. As much as Reno knew he got on Rude’s nerves, they were still on friendly terms as work partners, and Reno still harbored a useless little crush on him whether he felt like thinking about it at any given moment or not. They would sometimes go out to bars together and Reno could almost always find someone to go home with, but Rude rarely did.

Something about ‘needing an emotional relationship’.

What the fuck did emotions have to do with it? At the end of the day, it was a physical urge that needed sating - anyone halfway decent would do. Reno wasn’t overly picky and he sure as hell didn’t want emotions coming into play.

Besides, lots of bored accountants (or whatever-the-fuck-they-were) at Shinra would claw each other apart for a chance to fuck a Turk and Reno planned to take advantage of that.

Reno was contemplating getting up and laying on the moves when the object of his interest, as well as several women in her vicinity, turned to look at someone crossing from the other side of the room. Reno followed their gaze, prickling with irritation as they giggled and whispered to each other, to find Tseng’s familiar looming figure, tray in hand, scanning the room for an empty table.

He couldn’t blame them, really. Tseng was so fucking hot it made Reno want to rip his hair out. But as far as Reno could tell from his last three years working beneath him, Tseng was also a sexless robot. Not once had Tseng joined the rest of the Turks for happy hour and Reno had _never_ seen Tseng so much as flirt with another person. Honestly, if Tseng dropped his pants and he was just smooth down there, Reno wouldn’t have been remotely surprised.

It was such a waste of good looks. Tseng turned heads when he walked through a room and Reno wasn’t even positive he _realized_. People gossiped about the attractive Turk with the long, dark ponytail in hallways and in elevators - they would have given their left arm for a shot with him and he just walked around completely oblivious.

“Yo, Tseng!” Reno waved an arm. Couldn’t hurt to be seen with him - it would only help Reno’s own odds, right?

Tseng closed his eyes and sighed, but nevertheless made his way over to where Reno and Rude sat at a premium spot next to the window. He stood, stiff and awkward with his lunch tray in his hands, staring down at Reno and Rude.

Rude nodded wordlessly in greeting and Tseng returned the gesture before fixing Reno with a special frown he reserved just for him.

“You wanna join us, Chuckles?”

Tseng’s frown deepened, but he took a spot next to Rude. He and Rude ate in silence while Reno tapped his foot and watched the two of them in mounting irritation. Both of them were so stupid good looking and so _infuriatingly_ tight-lipped. Having a conversation with either of them was like pulling teeth, though Rude would at least loosen up after a few drinks.

“You see Veld’s e-mail about the special meeting?” Reno asked. Tseng nibbled on a rice ball and nodded. “Well, do you know what it’s about or what?”

“No,” Tseng replied flatly. “I suppose we’ll all find out at three.”

“You know,” said Reno, turning his attention back to the woman he had been staring at earlier - as he suspected, she had been staring at Tseng, but quickly looked away when she noticed Reno’s attention, “lotta ladies in here seem pretty interested in you. You don’t even notice it, do you?”

“No, I do,” said Tseng without looking up from his food. “What does it matter?”

“I mean…you should take advantage of it, man!” Reno smacked his hand against the table.

“Shinra has rules against fraternization.”

“Good point,” Rude piped in.

“Ah, who asked you, Cueball?” Reno barked.

Rude chewed on his food and muttered, “Sensitive…”

“It’s just a damn waste.”

“I appreciate your concern, Reno,” said Tseng, “However I have no interest in pursuing a fellow employee. And while I’ll remind you that my personal life is most certainly not your business, you needn’t lose sleep over my celibacy status.”

Reno gaped at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t need your assistance in finding a suitable sexual partner.”

“Gods, you are a robot, aren’t you? Who the fuck talks like this?” Reno looked to Rude for assistance, but he only shrugged.

“How would you prefer I talk about it?” Tseng asked. “The way _you_ do? I’ve heard the sorts of stories you tell in the break room. I’m not here to regale anyone with stories of my sex life. It’s unprofessional.”

“Oh, _pfft_ ,” Reno blew a loud raspberry. “What the fuck is professionalism? We kill people for a living.”

Tseng fixed him with that special scowl and, as much as Reno loved to run at the mouth, it shut him up. If nothing else, the conversation had revealed that Tseng did in fact have sex…probably anyway. He would tuck that away for later use. Tseng was a mysterious figure, so Reno treasured any little tidbit about his personal life or past that he could pry from him.

“Look, I know you said you don’t need help, but just for future reference, you got a type or anything?” Reno raised his eyebrows. _Maybe loud, lanky redheads, for instance?_

“No.”

“Man, you’re no fun.”

They finished their lunch in silence, Reno glowering at the women who wouldn’t stop staring at Tseng, and then the three of them headed back to Turk’s HQ together to attend a department meeting. Typically department meetings were once a month to review updates and debrief on particularly important missions, so when Veld called an impromptu meeting without explanation, Reno’s curiosity was piqued.

“Whaddya think he’s gonna talk about? You think one of us is getting fired?”

“No one is getting fired,” Tseng sighed.

“How do you know?”

Tseng gave him a withering look and took a seat at the conference table as they stepped into the executive office. Emma was already there, as well as a few of their other colleagues. All in all there were ten Turks working under Veld - not including the rookies, but Balto was on assignment and they were still awaiting Kero and Piers. Reno and Rude were the lowest on the totem pole at the moment, until the current class finished their training.

Reno sat down next to Emma, partially because he knew she found him incredibly irritating, and Rude sat on his other side.

“Anyone know what this is about?” Reno asked.

“We’ll find out when the chief gets here, won’t we?” Emma snapped.

Why were all of Reno’s hottest coworkers also the ones who seemed to hate him the most?

They didn’t have long to wait. Not long after Kero and Piers finally showed up, Veld stepped into the room with a teenage girl in tow. She wore the Turk uniform, but Reno had never seen her before in his life. Was she a new rookie being added to the training group last minute? Something in his gut told him she was something else entirely. She looked at the table full of experienced Turks unflinchingly, and though she was a tiny little bit of nothing, she stood as tall as she could, head held high.

“I would like you all to meet your newest colleague, Cissnei.” Veld squeezed Cissnei’s shoulder as he passed her. “Please take a seat, Cissnei.”

She responded obediently, taking the empty seat next to Tseng. The kid couldn’t have been older than sixteen and Veld was introducing her like she was a full-fledged Turk?

Veld sat down at the head of the conference table and observed his employees with the faintest hint of a smirk. Reno wasn’t the only one curious or confused if the other faces around the table were any indication.

“I’m sure you have a few questions, so let me explain. Cissnei has been,” Veld seemed to carefully consider his words, “a long term pet project of Dr. Hollander’s. In fact, many of you have probably passed her in the halls without recognizing her. She has spent most of her life undergoing rigorous training, both physical and mental. Please do your best to welcome Cissnei into the fold. She’ll be supervising the trainees as one of her first assignments. As always, if you have questions, please come to me directly rather than spreading baseless gossip.” He looked directly at Reno as he said this.

So Reno was nosy. Was that a crime?

What he wanted to ask was whether or not Cissnei was some test tube kid like everyone said Sephiroth was, but the truth was, Reno didn’t know if those rumors about Sephiroth were even true and he _knew_ Veld would scold him for asking about _that._

“Cissnei, would you like to say anything?” Veld asked.

Cissnei smiled and it unnerved Tseng. It was the sicky-sweet smile of an innocent teenage girl, but there was a trained assassin hiding underneath it. “I’m excited to finally test my skills in the field and work alongside such experienced colleagues.” Her voice too was the sort of sing-song cutesy tone of a schoolgirl. Trust was important within the Turks, but Reno planned on keeping his eyes on this one.

The meeting ended as quickly as it began. No one asked any questions despite their curiosity because they all knew the answer would inevitably be ‘that’s classified’. That was one point of contention Reno had with being a Turk. He thought once he passed exams the floodgates would open and he would get to learn all of Shinra’s sordid little secrets, but most of them were so classified that only Veld had access to the information. Patently unfair, if you asked him.

But as Rude would say, ‘Life’s not fair, Reno.’

* * *

While Tseng was surprised by the sudden appearance of a lab-bred Turk to their ranks, he didn’t question Cissnei’s presence if Veld supported it. He introduced himself briefly to the girl - and while she was young, there wasn’t a hint of innocence in her eyes - and then it was time for his first night off in several weeks. He had willingly taken back to back shifts, but he was in genuine need of a break from both work and his colleagues.

It was both humorous and irritating that Reno had been so overly concerned about Tseng’s sex life. Reno was a nosy gossip, which was surely his primary reason for his interest, but the truth was it had been a bit longer than Tseng preferred and he could certainly use the release. That wasn’t Reno’s business though. Tseng was intensely protective of his private life because he considered it an extension of the need for discretion in every aspect of his life as a Turk - even if it _was_ other Turks doing the prying.

He had a general rule against wearing his suit out on evenings when he was off duty, so the first thing he did when he left headquarters was return to his tiny little matchbox apartment in Sector One and change into a pair of comfortable slacks and a sweater before heading to a small club in Sector Two that he often frequented. Tseng would not describe himself as vain, but he took good care of himself and he understood the necessity of highlighting his more attractive assets when trying to garner attention from other men, which was why the sweater he wore that evening clung just a little tighter to his chest than he found comfortable.

The club in Sector Two was his favorite because it was small, dark, and quiet. Occasionally there would be live music, usually jazz, which was his favorite, so even if he didn’t find someone to go home with, he at least enjoyed himself. After years of sharing space with six other siblings and never having a moment to himself, coupled with a similar lack of privacy at work, Tseng found he truly enjoyed solitude. His idea of a pleasant evening was sitting alone in a booth in the corner of the club nursing a drink and enjoying the music.

Reno thought Tseng was unaware that other people found him attractive, but he was acutely aware simply because it was his job as a Turk to be observant. Tseng was neither self-conscious nor self-aggrandizing about his looks. Women actually seemed to pay him more attention than men, and he always had to politely turn them down when they approached him.

Most of the time, if no one approached him that struck his fancy, Tseng would simply pay for the release he was seeking. High-end bars and clubs on the plate came with high-end escorts and in his line of work it was less messy to just pay for what he needed and move on. Plus it afforded him the ability to choose someone who was exactly his type.

The club was fairly busy by the time Tseng arrived, but he managed to grab a drink and find a spot in a dark corner where he sat and sipped slowly. He didn’t drink often because he didn’t like losing control of his senses, so he had to take his time to avoid getting too tipsy. While he drank, he scanned the room, simultaneously looking for any signs of danger as well as any men that fit his admittedly specific preference.

A few tables away two beautiful Wutaian women sat whispering to each other and casting glances at Tseng. Tseng was not smooth when it came to social interaction and while he was aware of the attention he received, he didn’t handle it with any particular grace. He flushed involuntarily at the women staring at him and to his chagrin, one of them stood up and walked over to him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder and speaking to him in Wutaian.

“You’re the most handsome man in the room,” she said. “But I suspect you know that.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Tseng answered. “You’re very beautiful, but-”

“Don’t say ‘but’,” she sighed. “I hate that word.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?”

Tseng smiled with as much kindness as he could muster, which he worried was likely insufficient, “Of course not.”

She left him to return to her friend looking crestfallen as they whispered to each other some more. Tseng scanned the room again as new people entered the club and nearly choked on his drink at the sight of Lazard Deusericus approaching the bar. Although he was already in easily the most secluded part of the club, Tseng tried to shrink back further into the booth, not once removing his gaze as Lazard ordered his drink.

This was surely some sort of test from the Gods, not that Tseng really believed in them anyway. Tseng was incredibly serious about company policy, including rules against fraternization, but he harbored such an absurd crush on Lazard that he couldn’t help but look. His ears warmed at the mere thought of him. It was unfortunate that in many respects Lazard seemed to be Tseng’s dream man - he checked nearly every one of Tseng’s boxes.

Unfortunately for Tseng, as Lazard stood with his back against the bar scanning the room, he noticed Tseng hidden away in his shadowy booth and greeted him with a broad smile and a wave, immediately stepping away from the bar to approach him.

“Tseng! What a pleasure running into you outside of work.” Lazard stood at the edge of the booth clearly awaiting an invitation from Tseng.

“Sir…er,” Tseng cleared his throat. “Lazard. It’s nice to see you.” His ears were so hot he thought they might fall off. _Do not invite him to sit down._ “Would you like to…er…join me?” _Idiot._

“Certainly,” Lazard sidled into the booth across from him and set his drink down on the table. “Do you come here often? It’s one of my favorite clubs on the plate.”

Of course it was.

“I don’t get many nights off,” this much was true, “but I do enjoy the live music here.”

Lazard nodded and sipped his drink. “To be honest, I haven’t had a night off in a while either. It feels good to just relax for once.”

“I imagine your job is quite stressful.”

“Let’s not talk about work,” Lazard suggested. “What does someone in your line of work do with his time off, Tseng?”

“Nothing very interesting, I’m afraid.”

Lazard smirked, “Oh, I doubt that.”

This made Tseng flush even worse than he already was. He looked at his drink with sudden interest. “What do…you do with your time off?” he asked.

“Well,” said Lazard, settling back against the booth, “I used to be quite domestic, but I recently got out of a long-term relationship and I suppose I’m making up for lost time.”

It took Tseng a bit longer than it should have to say, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was his loss,” Lazard shrugged.

 _His_ loss.

It didn’t matter anyway, because Lazard was his superior and strictly off limits.

“I imagine your profession doesn’t allow for much in the way of relationships,” Lazard continued. Tseng appreciated that he danced around using the word ‘Turk’ in mixed company like this.

“Not really,” Tseng said, struggling not to tack ‘sir’ onto the end of every sentence.

“That’s too bad.”

Not really. Emotional attachments were messy. It had come as a huge shock to Tseng that Veld had a family - it was such a liability in their line of work, and frankly a weakness. Loving someone meant being vulnerable in more ways than one. Tseng had no interest in that sort of vulnerability. It was just showing his belly to any predator that wanted him dead.

“My work is fulfilling. It doesn’t bother me,” said Tseng.

Lazard scanned the room while the two of them drank in a silence that was surprisingly not as uncomfortable as Tseng expected it to be.

“Those women by the bar have certainly got their eyes on you,” Lazard noted.

“Perhaps they’re looking at you,” Tseng suggested.

“Hm,” Lazard shook his head. “I’m not convinced. Should I wave them over for you?”

“Oh,” Tseng’s entire face warmed. “No. I’m not…” He cleared his throat. “I’m gay.”

He had never told a coworker that before, mostly because he felt it wasn’t their business. A small part of him _wanted_ Lazard to know, and he had been so flustered by the suggestion that Lazard might help him pick up women that it just came out.

Lazard chuckled. “My apologies. I didn’t want to assume.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Lazard fixed him with an inscrutable look, quickly replacing it with a genial grin as he slid out of the booth. “I won’t keep you. I’m supposed to be meeting a friend here anyway, but it was lovely chatting with you, Tseng. You should stop by the forty-ninth floor more often.”

Tseng’s skin jumped when Lazard squeezed his arm as he stepped away from the table and he croaked out an awkward goodbye as Lazard walked away.

How utterly embarrassing.

Having spent all his social stamina trying to carry a conversation with Lazard, Tseng figured the evening was probably better spent with an escort. Once Lazard was out of sight, Tseng crossed the room and stood by the bar - his sights were already set on an attractive blonde escort seated elegantly on a corner bar stool sipping what he knew was a watered down drink.

“Hello,” Tseng said stiffly.

The escort looked up at him and batted his long eyelashes. “Hi, handsome. Can I interest you in some company?”

“Yes,” Tseng answered.

Sliding off of the stool in one fluid motion, the escort took his hand, “I’m Pim. And you?”

Tseng answered, allowing the escort to hook their arms together and leading him out into the cool night air. There was a hotel in Sector One that Tseng typically used for these sorts of exchanges, so they hailed a taxi and discussed the expectations while they traveled. Tseng checked into his usual hotel room, simply flashing his identification badge, and they wasted no time in getting down to business.

Sex insofar as Tseng had experienced was a formulaic ritual: a means of sating an urge and little else. He enjoyed the touch of another man, but there was nothing overtly sensual about the act for him. He kissed as little as possible because he found the act of kissing far more intimate than the sex itself. Tseng did do his best to make sure the other party enjoyed it - it only felt fair - but the primary purpose was and always would be finding his release.

When he was finished he paid and tipped the escort, waited until he left in a taxi, and then began the walk back to his apartment building to enjoy a decent night’s sleep now that his needs had been met. All in all it had been a truly successful night off - even the awkward encounter with Lazard had been enjoyable. It was the perfect end to the evening to cap the night off with a stroll through the sector, the cool air pleasant against his sweat-damp skin.

Not far from his apartment he heard a high-pitched mewling sound echoing against the walls of a darkened alley and he came to a halt, peering into the alley and listening for the sound again. It came a moment later, louder and more insistent, the truly pathetic wail of a likely injured animal. Tseng felt a little pang of guilt and stepped into the alley, careful to look for any signs of an ambush. It was so ingrained in him to expect danger that he didn’t think of how absurd it was in that situation.

At the end of the alley, he found a ripped and soiled cardboard box and when he knelt down, he found three impossibly small black balls of fluff within. Two bright yellow eyes looked up at him from the darkness and the kitten mewled again, scratching at the inside of the box and trying to claw its way out.

Tseng sighed. He reached into the box and found that the other two kittens were dead, but he offered his hand, holding it perfectly still for the remaining cat to sniff.

“Sad little thing,” Tseng said. His family had a pet cat when he was younger, a skinny little black and white cat that favored his sisters, but every once in a great while he would curl up next to Tseng to sleep. It was foolish of a Turk to take pity on a malnourished kitten who might not make it through the night, but it was a situation in which he simply couldn’t flip the switch to his cold, heartless work persona. The kitten rubbed against his hand and cried out such a desperate sound that Tseng conceded to scooping her out of the box and carrying her with him back home.

“You’re too small,” he told her. It was absurd to speak to an animal like that - he hadn’t done it since he was a child. “What am I going to feed you?” The cat whimpered, so he crushed her tighter against his chest. “I don’t have any meat for you, maomao,” he said.

Another moment of resignation: he would have to stop and pick up some food or the little thing would never make it. He carried her to a twenty-four hour shop not far from his apartment, picked up the minimum necessary items, and found himself walking into his apartment with a sack full of cat supplies and a mewling kitten in his arms.

“You probably have fleas, don’t you?” he asked, setting the kitten in the sink. “I’m going to wash you. I’m sorry. You won’t like it.”

The kitten stared up at him: two yellow eyes lost in a sea of black fur. He was right though - she shrieked and hissed and clawed at him while he scrubbed her clean in the sink, and nearly got away from him as he wrapped her up in a towel. He set her on the floor in the towel and she remained beneath the layers of fabric glowering at him.

_Don’t be foolish, a cat can’t glower._

But she was, though she quickly forgot her grudge when he poured out a bowl of food and set it a few inches from the towel. She waited until he had undressed and climbed into bed before sneaking out of the cover of her towel and tiptoeing over to the food dish, freezing at the slightest sound from Tseng. He couldn’t help but laugh as he watched her. She was so timid, but her hunger was outweighing her fear.

Only when he heard the sounds of her teeth crunching on the kibble did he lean back and close his eyes.

What was he going to do with a cat anyway? Well, they did make automatic feeders and self-cleaning litter boxes now, didn’t they? She could manage on her own when he was on missions.

It wouldn’t be so bad to have a little company when he was home…would it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Tseng. Poor, emotionally constipated, socially awkward, touch-starved Tseng. I've headcanoned for a long time that Tseng has a cat and I view him as sort of like a cat himself...it'll take someone like Rufus to coax him out of his shell and into a new comfort zone..........but not for a while.
> 
> Posting a day early in lieu of the upcoming holiday (if you're American anyway).
> 
> Thank you for reading. I have written ahead quite a bit but am taking a little break from writing at the moment to recharge. I'll still be posting on my every other week schedule as long as I've got chapters to post, so more soon!


	9. Monsters and Men

After years of struggle, years of playing pretend playboy to keep his father and his hounds off of his trail, and years still of kissing his father’s ass, Rufus finally had an official place at the table as vice president of the Shinra Electric Power Company. The icing on the cake was the completion of his masters degree after six years of busting his ass with schoolwork on top of everything else.

The only move left for him to make was to take his father’s throne, but that would require a bit more finesse, and he knew it.

Now that he was vice president it would be easier. He had been hatching this plan for years, from the time he was old enough to realize he was nothing more than an asset to his father, just as his mother had been before she died. He didn’t have the evidence to prove it, but that too he was certain was his father’s doing. How fitting then, for Rufus to be his father’s undoing?

For several years now, Rufus had been quietly and anonymously inserting himself into anti-Shinra dissident circles via their vast communication network. There was a complex political infrastructure to these dissident groups: many of them worked together until it was no longer advantageous to do so, and in that sense they were not so different from the company they were trying to dismantle. The irony wasn’t lost on Rufus, though he doubted any of the dissidents would find humor in the comparison.

After enough time observing their movements, Rufus made the decision to start funding the group he thought stood the best chance to make his father look like an ass. All he had to do was expose his father’s incompetence as a leader and the executives would readily side with a more competent leader like Rufus. If he could take out the Turks at the same time, that was all the better.

Like any good hunter, however, Rufus first had to lay the trap.

Following the completion of his degree, Rufus threw a party at the Junon estate, inviting the numerous socialites that were always eager to kiss his ass and let him buy them alcohol and drugs, happy to be his friend until they grew bored with him - they would be the perfect vapid backdrop to his scheme. He left security intentionally lax, failing to inform his father or anyone else at the company that the party was occurring specifically to avoid any Turks presence. Then he simply sat back and waited for the dissidents to take the bait.

There was no way for him to know which of the party guests might belong to one of the groups trying to destroy his father’s company - _his_ company - but Rufus was excellent at reading people, so in between idle chitchat with people whose names he couldn’t or didn’t care to remember, Rufus stood by the window sipping his champagne and observing the crowd.

One woman in particular caught his eye, most immediately because of the shimmering emerald dress with a slit that ran just high enough to catch the eye but leave a little something to the imagination, an ornate prosthesis taking the place of her left leg. Her figure didn’t quite suit the dress - she was thin and flat-chested, lacking in many feminine curves. Her face, however, was beautiful, cropped chestnut hair falling across her forehead in thin wisps.

She looked so incredibly out of place that Rufus knew right away she must be one of the ones he was looking for.

When she didn’t approach him - smart of her - he watched her for a while, sizing her up. Her arms were toned enough that he wasn’t confident of his odds in overpowering her if it came to that. Better to play a little game of cat and mouse and go from there. He couldn’t bargain with her if he was dead, after all.

After some time of watching her linger around the party with a drink in her hand, never really speaking to anyone, Rufus wandered away from his place by the window and stood next to her, pretending to observe a pool match just in front of them.

He leaned down and whispered, “You look uncomfortable.”

At this, she glanced up at him, the corners of her lips twitching into a smirk. “Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Shinra.”

“Please,” Rufus stepped back and offered his hand, “Call me Rufus.”

She took his hand with a demure smile, looking up at him behind thick lashes. She had a cute face. “Rufus, then.”

“And you, do you have a name?”

“Genevieve,” she said. Rufus was certain she was lying, but he nodded and returned his gaze to the pool table.

“It’s a shame we’ve never met,” he said.

“Oh,” her cheeks flushed. “A friend invited me. I’m not sure if-”

“No need to worry,” said Rufus, placing a hand on the small of her back. “What would you say to a tour of the building?”

“Very forward of you. Not even going to offer me a drink first?”

“You can have as many drinks as you like,” said Rufus. “What shall I get you?”

She glanced back up at him and brushed her fingers against his jaw. “Something sweet.”

Rufus enjoyed playing games like this. There was an air of danger, but something tense and sexual bubbling beneath the surface as well. He wanted a conversation with this woman, but the longer they stood dancing around the obvious, the more certain he was that he wanted _her_ as well.

There were worse ways to finalize a contract.

With exaggerated difficulty, he walked away from her to procure a drink: _something sweet_ , offering it to her as he returned. She took it with one hand and took his arm with the other.

“Now, that tour?”

“Gladly.”

Rufus led her out of the main ballroom down through the kitchens and back into the housekeepers’ quarters. Many of the rooms were empty, given that his father had reduced the staff substantially in recent years, so as he feigned showing her around, reciting a tired history of the building, he led her into one of the empty rooms and shut the door behind him.

“ _Mr. Shinra_ ,” she laughed. “Just what kind of woman do you take me for?”

Rufus smirked and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “An intelligent one.”

He kissed her, pleased when she didn’t rebuff him. Instead, she leaned into the kiss, flexing her lips against his and eventually opening her mouth to greet his tongue with her own. This was a far more interesting means of negotiating than he had initially planned for, so he decided to take it as far as she was willing to go, backing her onto the bed and climbing on top of her, pushing her dress past her hips as their bodies ground together.

Rufus enjoyed sex as often as he could, which wasn’t as often as he would have liked both because of how busy and how famous he was. At first, he hadn’t held high standards - anyone attractive would do - but after a while he grew tired of all of the men and women who simply wanted to fuck him because of his name. He wanted an intellectual equal in the bedroom, someone who could hold a conversation and keep him interested. This woman, whatever her _real_ name was, was most certainly holding his attention.

After a few heated minutes of kissing and groping, Rufus hooked his fingers in her underwear and pulled them down her legs, tossing them aside and moving to kiss a path up the insides of her legs while she sighed and arched her back beneath him.

He teased her for a bit, kissing the insides of her thighs, the crease where her hips met her legs, everywhere but where he knew she wanted him. She squirmed and gripped his hair, tugging lightly, but insistently.

“Was there something you wanted… _Genevieve_?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Your tongue.”

He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to tell him what she wanted, so he didn’t waste anymore time, moving his head between her legs and bringing his tongue against her clit in slow circles that drew a moan from the back of her throat and sent a shiver straight down Rufus’ spine and into his groin.

“ _Gods_ you’re good at that.” Her voice was huskier now.

The praise was almost as arousing as the sounds she was making. She tugged on his hair and arched against him, desperate for more, and he complied, sliding a finger inside of her while his tongue moved. This earned him another throaty moan, which only served as positive reinforcement.

She came wordlessly, muscles clenching around his finger as she pulled so hard on his hair it was almost painful, her hand relaxing its grip as her back fell flat against the mattress.

When he sat up, she had a pistol trained on him.

“What kind of thank you is that?” Rufus frowned. “I give you an orgasm out of the sheer kindness of my heart,” he held his hand against his chest dramatically, “and this is how you repay me?”

“Come now, Mr. Shinra, I don’t believe you’re as stupid as the media makes you out to be.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

“Outside of your father’s head, you’re the most valuable bargaining chip a rebel could hope for.”

“Rebels?” Rufus sat back on his legs and glanced at the gun with disinterest, even as her finger held steady over the trigger. “Is that what you call yourselves?”

“What do you call us?” She pushed herself up until her back was against the headboard.

“Dissidents. Eco-terrorists. Either suits you, doesn’t it?”

She nudged his chin with the gun. “You know, you’re even prettier in person. It’s really too bad.”

“Is it?”

“You seem pretty blase for a man with a gun trained on him.”

Rufus smirked. “You strike me as a smart woman, and smart women don’t kill or maim men that would be far more use to them alive and capable of bargaining.”

She returned his smirk, “Keep talking.”

“We both knew what the other was walking into this conversation, didn’t we? What group are you with?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I’ve spent the last four years infiltrating your networks and I want to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

She answered readily, “Avalanche.”

This was even better than Rufus had hoped. Avalanche, in his experience scouring the dissident networks, was far and away the most competent faction with the strongest and most loyal following. If he could have had his pick of groups to start funding, Avalanche would have been top of the list.

“Interesting. And what’s your _real_ name?”

“I go by Elfe,” she answered again, still holding her gun steady, pointed at his shoulder. Right now, she was aiming to injure, not kill - better to keep it that way.

“And how much say do you have in Avalanche’s affairs, Elfe?”

She leaned forward, pressing her gun against his stomach and gripping the collar of his shirt to pull him toward her until their noses brushed. “All of it. I’m the leader.”

“What would you say to an arrangement that would benefit the both of us?” Rufus asked.

“I’m listening.”

“I have access to an incredible amount of gil. An amount you wouldn’t believe. Enough to completely overhaul Avalanche’s structure: more men, more weapons, and best of all,” he brushed his nose against hers and toyed with kissing her even as the muzzle of her gun pressed painfully against him, “insider secrets.”

“And what do you get out of this?” She asked, raking her free hand through his hair and gripping it tightly at the base of his skull.

“I just want to expose my father for the incompetent fool he truly is. But if he dies in the process,” Rufus shrugged. “What a tragedy that would be.”

“Ah, so we’re playing party to a family squabble. And what happens to us if we succeed in killing him?”

“Then you have a friendly ear running the most powerful company in the world,” Rufus answered. “Someone who might be amenable to listening to your demands. I’ll tell you right now, that will never be my father. He wants to see each and every dissident group squashed under his heel. But not me.”

Elfe caressed his jaw with the side of her gun, the cool metal sending a shiver down Rufus’ spine.

“Why should I believe a single word you’ve said?”

“I can wire you money right now as a gesture of good faith. Name your price.”

“Ten million.” She didn’t hesitate.

“Done.”

She let go of him and leaned back, holstering her gun and quietly observing him. “Okay then. Send me the money.” She brought up a transfer interface on her phone and he complied. When the transfer went through, she glanced up at him. “Why shouldn’t I just shoot you now and take you back to our base as a hostage?”

“Because there’s far more where that came from,” Rufus said. “And as I told you, I can provide you with valuable intel. Intel you won’t get elsewhere. That’s worth more than my money.”

Elfe leaned forward, gripping his shirt and forcing him down onto his back, climbing on top of him and straddling his hips. “How do you propose we formalize this agreement, Mr. Shinra?” She asked, grinding down against his groin. Rufus was surprised and annoyed at the unbidden moan that left his lips.

“Don’t want to shake on it?” He asked.

“Something tells me you don’t either,” she said, gripping his cock through the fabric of his pants.

“Ah,” he huffed. “Enough talking.”

Their lips came together and her hands tore at the zipper on his pants, shoving them down his legs until they were out of the way while he fumbled with a condom, so eager to get it on that he nearly tore it. She sank down onto him with a sigh and rolled her hips, pressing her palms flat against his chest and throwing her head back with a moan.

This wasn’t exactly how Rufus envisioned seeing his plans through when the evening began, but he wasn’t complaining either. He thrust his hips up to meet her movements, bodies grinding together, both of them gasping and sweating. She pressed her chest flat against his and he gripped her ass, digging his fingers into the skin and thrusting as hard and fast as the position allowed until he came with a blinding burst of pleasure and she fell against him gasping.

After a few seconds of catching their breath, she slid off of him and kissed his cheek.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Shinra.”

* * *

Tseng sat in the Turks’ break room eating a wilting salad he had forgotten about from two days earlier and listening with growing irritation as Reno sat amongst a group of their colleagues, as well as all the new trainees, reading the briefing Veld sent out the day before about the emerging situation with SOLDIER.

“’Approximately two weeks ago,’” Reno began, “’SOLDIER First-Class Genesis Rhapsodos’ - is that _really_ his last name?” He looked up from his phone, “Yo, Tseng, is Rhapsodos for real that tool’s last name?”

Tseng sighed and chewed his salad with a frown.

“Anyway,” Reno cleared his throat and continued, “’SOLDIER First Class Genesis Rhapsodos defected, taking with him roughly two-thirds of the second-class and third-class troops in addition to Shinra senior scientist Dr. Hollander Sterling.’ Woof. Talk about misplaced loyalty.”

“Reno,” Rude grumbled.

Reno ignored him. “’Approximately one week ago while on assignment in Wutai, SOLDIER First-Class Angeal Hewley was declared missing in action. Director Deusericus in conjunction with Director Heidegger and the President have expressed concern’, that’s an understatement, huh? ‘expressed concern that Hewley may be working in conjunction with Rhapsodos to undermine Shinra, Inc. In the following weeks, Turks may be asked to work in conjunction with SOLDIER to assist in containing this situation. Both men are considered armed and highly dangerous.’” Reno finished with a frown, and a few of the other Turks made sounds of disapproval.

“What’s so bad about working with SOLDIER?” Shotgun asked. She had been raised in Junon’s upper city in the same sorts of circles that Rufus Shinra ran in, and her personality was almost as bad as Rufus’. _Almost._ She at least had a little humility that Rufus sorely lacked.

“What’s so bad about working with SOLDIER?” Reno balked. “Those fucking meatheads? No offense, Rude,” Reno smacked Rude’s shoulder, which earned him a gruff ‘hmph’ from Rude.

“Reno, please watch your words,” Tseng said. “The chief expects us to work cooperatively with Director Deusericus’ men. We should put aside any notions of-”

“Gods, don’t act like you’re any happier about it than the rest of us. You hate it too, just admit it.”

Tseng did hate it, but he wasn’t going to undermine Veld’s directive either. He went back to eating his salad and Reno launched into a tirade against SOLDIER, which even Emma - who hated Reno with a passion - nodded along in agreement to. The tirade was cut short when Veld stepped into the room with his hands behind his back, scanning the group and zeroing in on Reno seated on top of the table with his legs folded under him. He frowned and Reno immediately scrambled into a seat.

“Chief, what can we do for you?” Cissnei asked.

“I was looking for Tseng. Can I borrow you for a moment, Tseng?”

“Of course, sir.” Tseng pushed his food away and followed Veld out of the break room and down the hall to his office.

It wasn’t until they were inside and seated that Veld spoke.

“Last week I sent Kero and Piers on a mission to Banora. Do you know what relevance Banora has to the…emerging situation, Tseng?”

Banora was known for very little besides the fruit that grew there. The juice was quite popular and the fruit only grew in Banora. This was something most citizens of Midgar knew merely because of the popularity of the drink. What relevance it had to the situation with SOLDIER was beyond Tseng.

“No, sir.”

“Both Rhapsodos and Hewley are from Banora.” Veld rubbed his brow. “We sent Kero and Piers to question Rhapsodos’ family but we lost communication with them. I had hoped it was merely due to necessary precautions on their end, but now that Hewley has gone missing as well, I fear something worse has happened. I spoke with Director Deusericus and I would like you to accompany a SOLDIER to Banora to investigate.”

“A SOLDIER, sir? Sephiroth is the only remaining first-”

“Yes. Please head up to the forty-ninth floor to meet with Director Deusericus and Sephiroth.”

“Of course, sir,” Tseng bowed his head and excused himself.

There were a million thoughts running through his mind. He hadn’t been close with Kero and Piers, but he knew them well enough and it left a bad taste in his mouth to consider what a SOLDIER like Rhapsodos might have done to them. It was a risk of the job, of course, but Kero and Piers had been competent Turks more than capable of holding their own. Part of what bothered Tseng was the concern he might meet the same end, even with Sephiroth at his side.

That too was gnawing at him as he rode the elevator up to the forty-ninth floor. He had never formally met Sephiroth, only seen him from time to time when he made appearances at board meetings. He felt a certain compassion for the boy, though Tseng supposed he wasn’t a boy anymore, now nearing his twenty-first birthday. Shinra had long used him as their poster boy for the SOLDIER program and he had become famous for murdering thousands of innocent Wutaians as part of the war. That was quite a burden to bear as a child, which he was when the war began.

Then there was the final, far more trivial issue of Tseng’s foolish schoolboy crush on Director Deusericus. _Lazard. He asked you to call him Lazard._ He had not seen Lazard since their run-in at the club a month earlier.

Tseng stood tense outside of Lazard’s office before knocking once and awaiting a response.

“Come in.”

He stepped inside to find Sephiroth seated in front of Lazard’s desk wearing a scowl, arms folded against his chest, and…were his eyes red? If Tseng didn’t know better he would have guessed Sephiroth had been crying. Maybe he _had_. The only thing Tseng knew about the three first-class SOLDIERS as a unit was that they were close-knit - ‘cliquey’ if you asked other SOLDIERS or Turks.

“Ah, Tseng, nice to see you again,” Lazard greeted him with a warm smile that made Tseng’s stomach clench. _Foolish._ “Have you and Sephiroth met?”

Tseng bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Not formally. A pleasure to meet you, s-” Tseng had to stop himself short from addressing Sephiroth as sir. They were technically equals in their respective departments, but Sephiroth’s reputation so preceded him that Tseng felt uncomfortable referring to him as an equal.

Sephiroth nodded. “Tseng, was it?”

“Yes.”

He turned his attention back to Lazard. “As I said. You’ll need to find someone else. Zack is up for promotion. It could be a good test of his abilities.”

“Very well,” said Lazard, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. “You may take your leave.”

Sephiroth stood up and though Tseng had seen him in person numerous time, standing directly next to him it took him by surprise just how tall he was. He nodded at Tseng and stepped past him, sweeping out the door.

“Sephiroth is refusing the mission, sir?” Tseng asked Lazard.

“No need for the sir, Tseng. Though,” he chuckled, “I’ve been made aware that of all the Turks, you aren’t particularly fond of eschewing the rules. But never mind that. Sephiroth has personal ties to Hewley and Rhapsodos. He felt his investigation couldn’t be carried out objectively. We have a second-class who will be a suitable substitute, though he was Hewley’s protege of sorts. I believe he can handle the situation. I’ll call him up. Why don’t you take a seat while we wait?” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Tseng took a seat and tried not to stare at Lazard while he called for a SOLDIER named Zack. His eyes kept straying back to Lazard’s face, whether he meant to or not. For a man whose job was overseeing a group of supersoldiers and helping to coordinate one of the deadliest wars in recent history, Lazard seemed to always wear a smile. Tseng wondered if it was just a facade - it must have been. Just as Tseng had a flip he could switch with practiced ease between his work persona and his more human side, he felt certain the leader of SOLDIER must also know how to toe that line.

Maybe it was a necessity of working for Shinra to know how to wear many faces.

“Have you been to Banora before?” Lazard asked when he had finished his phone call.

“No.” It was not far from where Tseng had grown up in Mideel, but he was not in the habit of disclosing details about his past to anyone. That part of him was dead and had been for many years. Realizing his answer was too terse, he added, “I hear it’s beautiful though,” which was at least true.

“Yes, so have I. I’ve never been either. In fact, do you know until I took this job I’d never been outside of Midgar?” Lazard laughed. “And even now the farthest I’ve been is Junon. It’s too bad you aren’t going under better circumstances.”

As though Tseng took vacations? Turks were alloted the time to, but Tseng traveled enough on missions that on the rare occasion he took vacation - or rather was forced to by Veld - he mostly used it to catch up on sleep and other more basic needs he didn’t have time to see to as often as he would have preferred.

“Well,” Tseng said, “I try to take in the beauty of whatever locale I’m visiting, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.” Which was true, though he rarely had the time to sit and take in the view unless a stakeout was involved, and even then he was usually stuck watching people talk for hours inside a cloistered room with stale air, often a seedy bar.

“I’ll bet you’ve been to plenty of interesting places, haven’t you?”

“I am…well traveled thanks to my job,” Tseng answered.

Lazard smiled and his eyes scanned Tseng’s face. “You’re an intriguing man, Tseng.”

Tseng’s ears grew warm and he was thankful for the sound of the door opening to indicate the SOLDIER’S arrival. When he turned around in his chair to greet the SOLDIER, he faltered, surprised at the sight of a boy who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He was all muscle, with a mane of spiky black hair, bouncing on his heels as he came to rest in front of Lazard’s desk.

“You wanted to see me, Director?” He asked.

“Zack, thank you for coming. I’d like you to meet Tseng. He’s one of Veld’s men,” Lazard said, gesturing to Tseng. Tseng offered his hand and Zack shook it with so much force Tseng was almost certain his fingers were broken.

“Wow! A Turk, huh? I’ve never actually worked with one. Is it true that you guys burn your fingerprints off?” Zack raised his eyebrows expectantly and Tseng sighed.

So he was to complete this mission with a child soldier? A boy who was far too jovial and curious to be an extension of Shinra’s military. How young had he been when he joined SOLDIER to be a second-class at his age? Tseng hid his distaste for the situation, just like any good Turk ought to, prizing his hand from Zack’s grip and flexing his sore fingers.

“I’m afraid that’s classified information,” said Tseng.

Lazard chuckled and again, Tseng’s ears warmed at the attention. Zack went slack-jawed for a second until he realized Tseng was joking.

“Ah, I didn’t know Turks were funny!”

“We aren’t,” Tseng replied dryly. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Where are we going?” Zack asked, looking back and forth between Tseng and Lazard expectantly.

“Banora.” Tseng bowed his head to Lazard as a farewell and made his way out the door, Zack rushing after him and catching up easily. Tseng wasn’t short by any means but this _boy_ was taller than he was, nearly as tall as Sephiroth.

“Banora?” Zack asked, bouncing on his heels once more while they waited for the elevator. “That’s where Angeal is from…hey! They’re not seriously making me investigate him, are they?” His youthful smile gave way to a deep frown at the realization. “Angeal is my friend, you know.”

“You work for Shinra,” Tseng said. “You should know better than anyone that your dedication to Shinra trumps all other loyalties.” The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside, heading for the helipad on the roof. “Angeal Hewley has been labeled a deserter. It’s our job to figure out what he and Genesis Rhapsodos are up to.”

“I just don’t believe Angeal would do that.” Zack pouted and folded his arms.

How could anyone who went through a mako shower be this naive about the world? Shinra secrets were worth more than all the gil on Gaia and who knew more about Shinra’s secrets than two first-class SOLDIERS and a scientist who helped start the SOLDIER program? Angeal Hewley was either dead, likely by Rhapsodos’ hand, or working alongside him. Tseng could understand why Sephiroth would want to remove himself from this scenario, but was a kid who saw Hewley as a hero any better?

“Shouldn’t they have sent a first to do this mission?” Zack asked.

“Yes,” Tseng agreed. “However, Sephiroth refused.”

“What?” Zack balked. “I thought you couldn’t refuse an order. Why does he get special treatment anyway?”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Tseng suggested.

He led the way out of the elevator across the roof to the helipad, climbing into the cockpit and starting up the engine while Zack settled down in the co-pilot’s chair.

“Do all Turks know how to fly these things?” he asked while Tseng brought them up into the air, speeding away from Midgar south toward Banora.

“Perhaps it’s best if we don’t talk. I need to focus.” That was a lie, but Tseng didn’t want to spend three hours chit-chatting with a teenage boy.

_You were his age when you joined the Turks._

But he was never this…bubbly. Tseng’s mother used to say that he had been born an old soul. ‘Two going on twenty’. He had _never_ had the sort of youthful exuberance Zack had.

He was only seven years older than the boy, at most, but it may as well have been three decades for the difference between them.

Although Tseng had never been to Banora before, it didn’t look remarkably different than Mideel. The town itself was smaller than the city of Mideel, but nature had overtaken parts of the massive estates dotting the plains. They flew over miles upon miles of dumbapple orchards culminating in a cluster of homes where the main village of Banora was located.

“Wow, it’s prettier than Angeal made it sound.”

It was quaint. That was all Tseng could say about it. When they stepped out of the helicopter, there was a pleasant breeze, and despite its proximity to Mideel, it wasn’t as overbearingly humid.

They stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the village. A waterfall in the background flowed into a river that ran through town, providing the only sound besides the gentle rustle of the dumbapple trees in the breeze. In fact, it was disconcertingly quiet, and not a single soul seemed to be moving about in the village.

Beside Tseng, Zack shivered. “Feels creepy.”

Tseng noticed a small cemetery near the bottom of the sloping hill leading into the village, but most notable was how fresh some of the graves looked. He made his way wordlessly down the hill and Zack hurried after him with a ‘Hey!’

Why were they making the Turks work with SOLDIERS when their approach to situations were completely antithetical to one another?

“Be quiet,” Tseng chided.

“Well, don’t go running off without telling me what the plan is.”

Tseng crouched down in front of the graves and observed them while Zack stood behind him shifting his weight restlessly from hip to hip.

“These graves are fresh,” Tseng explained, gesturing to the graves near the back that looked recently filled, the soil still soft and slightly damp. “I don’t believe these headstones are accurate.”

“What makes you think that?” Zack whispered, crouching down next to him.

Tseng gave him a withering look before explaining. “Two Turks were sent to investigate Rhapsodos before Hewley went missing. They’ve been lost to contact for a week and now there are fresh graves. Seems unlikely to be a coincidence.”

Zack grimaced, “You think they’re buried there?”

“I’m certain they are. Though, I’m not certain who else is,” Tseng crossed the graveyard and stood in front of the graves, readying the earth materia embedded in his gloves.

“You’re gonna dig them up!?” Zack cried before clapping his hands over his mouth to silence himself. He at least had the decency to look sheepish about his outburst when Tseng frowned at him. “Man, Turks really do have to do all of Shinra’s dirty work, don’t they?”

Tseng rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. They pay us better than you. I want you to go into town and see if you can find anyone. It seems deserted.”

“What if I do find someone?”

Tseng avoided the obvious response of ‘question them’, only because he doubted Zack’s ability to properly interrogate a subject. “Just hold them until I’m done here. I have to make a positive identification on these bodies.”

Zack grimaced again, nodded, and bounded off into the village. Once he was gone, Tseng dug out the soil from the fresh graves with his earth materia until he reached the bodies. He didn’t have to dig far: the graves were shallow and the bodies had been dumped carelessly within. Though the corpses were badly decomposed, it was evident that two of the bodies belonged to Kero and Piers from the black suits clinging to their rotting flesh. Tseng choked back bile at the stench and reached down to tear with a knife at the fabric on the bottom right pocket of their suit jackets. Within the lining of the jacket he found what he was looking for: a thin metal chip that would identify them. The other two bodies were less obvious until he read the gravestones. Kero and Piers had been buried under fake names, but the surname on the other two stones read: Rhapsodos.

So Genesis had killed his own parents.

He took a picture of the bodies for his report and covered them back up with the displaced soil. Hopefully, he wouldn’t meet the same fate.

While Zack searched the town, Tseng moved up a hillside across from where they had landed to scope out the surrounding countryside. Banora, famous for its juice, was certain to have a production factory somewhere nearby, likely nestled between the orchards. From the hilltop, he would be able to locate it. If nothing else, the factory was a good place to start searching for clues. He wasn’t overly concerned with Zack searching the town - he could always make a sweep on his own afterward. Zack didn’t exactly strike him as the most observant kid on Gaia.

The hill plateaued after roughly half a mile of hiking and Tseng moved toward the horizon line where the plateau dipped into a sharp precipice. At the edge of this cliff, he found exactly what he had been looking for: a manufacturing plant built against the cliff side.

Careful to avoid being seen, Tseng pressed himself flat against the ground and crawled to the very edge of the cliff, glancing down at the factory entrance and inhaling sharply at the sight of Genesis Rhapsodos entering the factory.

“Zack,” Tseng spoke into his phone using the short-range communication function and waited for a response.

“Tseng?”

Who else would it possibly have been?

“I’m overlooking the factory on the western edge of the village. I’ve spotted Genesis. I’m moving in. Did you find anything in town?”

“Angeal’s mother was there…but no one else. It was strange. No sign of Angeal.”

Tseng would have to interrogate Hewley’s mother later, if she was even still there when they returned. Retrieving Rhapsodos and returning him to Shinra was his ultimate mission, so he scaled the cliff face down to the factory and slipped inside, hand hovering over his pistol where it rested at his hip in a holster.

It was quiet and dark within and Tseng waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He moved through each room of the factory, silent as a ghost, listening for any signs of Genesis or the numerous troops that had defected with him, but he was met with an overbearing silence.

“What are you doing here, lapdog?”

Tseng whirled around, gun raised, to find Genesis Rhapsodos standing at the end of the hallway, but when Tseng fired off a shot, aiming for his leg to slow him, he disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Tseng’s hair stood on end and he continued along the corridor with his gun cocked, ready to fire again if needed.

It was far easier to deal with a mission focused on taking out Shinra’s enemies than monsters of Shinra’s own creation. Tseng knew only marginally more about Hojo and his experiments than some of his fellow Turks, and what he did know he frankly wished he didn’t. Hojo and Hollander had been responsible for the SOLDIER project. Tseng had seen what new recruits went through, but just what did it take to make the rank of first? He wasn’t eager to find out, but he had a feeling Genesis Rhapsodos was going to show him.

The hallway opened into a large room with industrial juicing vats that had been turned off, leaving the air rank with the sickly smell of fermenting fruit from the juice left behind mingling with the distinctly pungent scent of mako. Just past the juicers, bathed in the golden afternoon light cascading in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the northern wall, Rhapsodos stood with his back to Tseng gazing out the window.

“How should we do this?” Tseng asked. He was more than aware that physically he was no match for a first-class SOLDIER and never would be. Rhapsodos had the advantage of mako-imbued blood and years of intensive strength training.

Rhapsodos turned away from the window with a scowl. “They already sent your people after me before. I assume you saw what became of them…what will become of you as well.”

“And your parents?”

“Two of many who have recently betrayed me.”

Tseng could feel sweat beading on his face irrespective of the stale heat inside the factory. Where was Zack? He needed backup to deal with this situation, as loathe as he was to admit it. Surely Hojo had some monster to rival Rhapsodos’ strength that could have been dropped in instead.

Rhapsodos raised his arm, calling forth a fire spell with his materia and aiming it directly at Tseng. Tseng ducked and rolled in response, fired off a shot that grazed Rhapsodos’ arm, and narrowly avoided a second fire spell. The wooden floor behind him exploded in flames and splinters. Tseng fired off another shot, this time with enough accuracy that it should have lodged itself in Rhapsodos’ shoulder, but it instead deflected on an unseen barrier.

Rhapsodos chuckled. “I grow so tired of Shinra’s games.”

“Why did you defect?”

“What makes you think I’ll tell you anything, lapdog?”

It was rich of a SOLDIER of all people to call Tseng a lapdog, but that sentiment wouldn’t have been well received in the moment, and Tseng didn’t come here to make small talk with a fugitive of the state. He readied an ice spell and was met with another deflection from an unseen barrier, different than the type materia could create. Tseng was more outmatched than he initially realized.

“Tseng!”

Zack’s voice sounded from the other end of the room, but Tseng didn’t tear his gaze away from Rhapsodos.

“Two lapdogs,” Rhapsodos sighed. “Very well.”

Before Tseng could react, a beam of light shot from Rhapsodos’ hand and struck him in the gut, knocking him hard against the wall, his head slamming into the side of one of the juicing vats. He crumpled to the ground and was vaguely aware of…was that Hewley…?

Then he lost consciousness.

* * *

He couldn’t have been out more than a few minutes, but Tseng found himself alone when he awoke, his head ringing and his gut burning. He struggled to his feet, activated his restore materia for a boost of energy, and decided to investigate the source of the mako smell and take a few pictures for his report before figuring out where Zack and the other SOLDIERS had disappeared to. The lack of blood in the room reassured Tseng that Zack had not left the factory in any severely injured state.

Whatever Rhapsodos had hit him with, Tseng felt weak and nauseous. He struggled up the side of the juicing vat, resting on the edge and peering down inside of it. The smell was worse this close and Tseng had to cover his mouth as he took in the contents of the vat. It was filled roughly three-quarters full with what was unmistakably mako and resting in the mako were…bodies? A dozen at least, floating as if in a stasis, and they all looked identical to Rhapsodos.

Tseng's head spun. He took a picture of the bodies and pulled his phone from his breast pocket. It rang twice before the other line picked up.

“This is Veld.”

“Sir, it’s Tseng. We encountered Rhapsodos in Banora. The SOLDIER assigned to the mission is in pursuit, but…Rhapsodos and Hollander seem to be using the factory for…well, they look like clones, sir. I don’t know how else to explain it. I have some images.”

Veld was silent for a few minutes. “I see. Listen carefully. I’m giving you one hour to get Rhapsodos and get out of there and then I’m calling in an air raid. Do you understand, Tseng?”

“Of course, sir. The assets…the evidence…it has to be destroyed. Sir, I also found Kero and Piers. They were killed in action.”

Veld sighed. “Very well. One hour, Tseng.” He hung up without another word.

With some effort, Tseng made his way back down the side of the vat and out of the factory toward the village. There were signs of a struggle halfway there: parts of the cliff face blown out by a powerful materia, two bodies that looked like the other clones of Rhapsodos. Tseng decided it was worthwhile to bring one of the bodies in to show Veld, so he snapped a picture of the clones lying dead next to each other before hefting one over his shoulder and continuing on his way into the village.

Inside the village, he found Zack crouched down in the doorway of one of the houses, staring at a woman’s body lying in a pool of blood.

“Zack,” Tseng cleared his throat. “What happened to Rhapsodos? And was Hewley here?”

“Tseng!” Zack stood up. “I’m sorry I left you, man, but-”

Tseng held his hand up to silence him. “You made the right decision. The mission always comes first.”

Zack nodded and for the first time that day, his face turned deadly serious. It made him look much older than he was, a shadow cast over his face as he glanced down at the dead woman.

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Neither did Tseng, and frankly, it wasn’t his business to understand so much as it was to neutralize the threat. This was just Shinra’s own creations getting out of hand, one point of evidence toward the President’s questionable oversight of his pet projects, not that Tseng would give voice to that.

“Where is Rhapsodos?” Tseng repeated.

“He got away,” Zack glanced up to the sky still wearing his frown. “Angeal was here too. I’m sorry, Tseng. I tried to stop them.”

“We were outmatched,” said Tseng. And the Turks would continue to be without Sephiroth’s assistance. “We have to go. Shinra is calling in an air raid to destroy the village.”

“ _What!?_ ” Zack cried.

“Don’t be so naive,” Tseng chided, making his way back up the hill to the helicopter. Zack followed, though he was clearly upset. “This town has valuable Shinra assets hiding in that factory. Science funded by Shinra that Hollander absconded with. It has to be destroyed before it can leak to the public.”

That was just the Shinra way, something Tseng understood better after seven years working for the company. They left a fire in their wake wherever their money couldn’t buy silence. Most often, the Turks were the fuse that lit the fire so that no one else need dirty their hands with the affair.

Tseng placed the body of the Rhapsodos clone in a seat at the back of the helicopter, strapping it in and grimacing at the way its skin seemed to slough off at the touch. It was degrading so rapidly that Tseng wasn’t certain it would survive the trip back to headquarters. That was going to make for an unpleasant smell by the end of the trip.

Not long after they flew away from the quiet little village nestled between the dumbapple orchards, there was the distant sound of explosions as Shinra swept in to take care of their mess.

“Tseng?” Zack asked, gazing down at the landscape below with a somber face.

Tseng sighed. “Yes, Zack?”

“Do you think…do you think SOLDIERS are monsters? I mean…do you think working for Shinra…makes you one?”

Tseng clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead.

 _Yes. Of course it does._ SOLDIERS and Turks…two heads of the same beast. Monsters whose job it was to secure peace and order through any means necessary. That was the importance of compartmentalization, of being able to control which aspects of you belonged to those crimes. At the end of the day, Tseng could live with being a monster sometimes, because it didn’t define him. It was only one aspect of who he was, however prominent a part of his life it was.

Tseng had a personal policy against needless lies with colleagues, but when he looked up at Zack, so young and naive despite his role, telling him he was a monster felt a bit like kicking a puppy. Tseng might have been a monster himself, but he did draw the line somewhere.

“No,” he said. “We’re not monsters.”

And the lie seemed to placate Zack. At least for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew this was kind of a long one. I want to start by saying I'm going to deviate quite a bit from canon in regards to Elfe. I think her characterization is one of the most criminally misogynistic and underutilized roles in the compilation, particularly her amnesia plotline. For that reason, I'm not using the amnesia plot at all. I want to give her some character and agency I feel she sorely lacked in the compilation, especially given such a good motivator for her backstory of her mother being killed and her father "leaving them" to die in loyalty to Shinra. ~rant over~
> 
> I had fun writing the back and forth with Elfe and Rufus. That sort of smoldering tension was fun to contrast with the like awkwardness of Tseng and Lazard. I also just LOVE writing Tseng and Zack working together because I think Tseng has a soft spot for Zack that long term really allows us to see his more human side.
> 
> ANYWAY. Thank you all so very much for reading. I'll have more in a couple weeks!


	10. Infiltration

Six thirty in the morning was too early to be expected to show up for work if you asked Reno, not that Veld ever did before calling him in. Reno supposed he deserved to feel as miserable as he did, dragging his feet the entire way from Sector One to Sector Zero, taking his time puffing on a cigarette and taking swigs of coffee, a pair of sunglasses he stole from Rude protecting his eyes from the harsh light of the Shinra building and the sun creeping up over the horizon.

He shouldn’t have gone down to the Honeybee Inn the night before. He _knew_ he had to be at work early and despite his constant struggle with falling in line, he usually didn’t sabotage himself like this. It was _Rude’s_ fault, really, not that Reno would ever admit that out loud.

The prior evening, as they were finishing up paperwork at their desks, Rude kept glancing up at him and Reno in turn kept stealing glances as well. It was the most innocuous fucking thing and yet it lit a fire in Reno’s belly that he knew…he just fucking _knew_ …Rude would never quench.

It was against the rules, sure, but Rude had also never given a single indication he was remotely interested in Reno. So why did Reno’s stomach twist into knots every time they shared a moment like that?

A crush on a coworker was monumentally stupid. A crush on his _partner_ was a level of stupid only Reno was capable of achieving.

So he went out to the Honeybee Inn and drank way too much and made out with…someone…went home with someone else, woke up with a pounding headache at three in the morning, stumbled home to his own apartment, slept for maybe two hours, and now he was on his way into work with a hangover the size of Midgar feeling even less fulfilled than before.

If Rude had just been some guy he met in a bar he would have had no issue laying on the moves. As much as Reno loved breaking the rules, at the end of the day he knew how serious an offense something like fraternization could be. If they were ever caught, the best case scenario was they wouldn’t be allowed to work together anymore - something so unimaginable that Reno would never risk it - but the worst case scenario was much _much_ worse.

It was just a dumb fucking crush anyway. After all, who wouldn’t be attracted to Rude? Reno wasn’t the only Turk stealing glances in the shared gym that was for damn sure.

Reno stepped into the elevator to find Tseng standing like a statue within. He was always _lurking_ like that. It gave Reno the creeps.

“Well, you look bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning, Chuckles,” Reno greeted him.

Tseng frowned at him. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks, it’s what I was going for.” Reno looked Tseng up and down as he sipped his coffee. Tseng probably never looked bad, even when he was this hungover. Then again, Tseng probably never drank enough to _be_ hungover because he was just that kind of fun-hating, rule-abiding weirdo. “Did you hear the news?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” said Tseng.

“Your favorite little brat is back in town.”

Tseng pursed his lips. Whenever the president’s son needed a Turk on his detail, the President always seemed to assign Tseng to the task. Reno loved it because Rufus Shinra seemed to be the only thing on the planet that could get under Tseng’s cool, composed exterior. He didn’t blame Tseng for hating the job though: bodyguard duty was shit work in general, but acting as a bodyguard to the planet’s most spoiled rich kid had to be ten times worse.

And _now_ he was vice president.

“The vice president’s whereabouts don’t concern me unless I’m assigned to his detail,” Tseng answered diplomatically.

Reno grinned and pointed an accusatory finger at him, “See, I didn’t even say it was the VP. You just filled that in based on my description.”

For the first time that Reno could recall, Tseng faltered, his expression cracking as his mouth fell open, but just as quickly he straightened up and stepped out of the elevator onto their floor.

“It is a Turk’s job to be perceptive,” he said in his defense.

“Whatever you say!” Reno yelled after him as he disappeared into the executive office.

Reno sauntered into the office he shared with several of his coworkers and slid into his chair. Rude was already at his desk, directly across from Reno’s, typing away. He glanced up at Reno’s arrival, nodding a hello and then frowning.

“Are those my sunglasses?”

“Yeah,” said Reno. “Needed ‘em for some undercover work.”

Rude rolled his eyes. “If ‘undercover’ means ‘covering up your hangover’, you’re doing a bad job.”

“Could you keep it down?” Reno groused. “My head hurts.”

“Why did you go out last night anyway? You knew we had to be in early today.”

Reno shrugged, “Guess I’m just a masochist.”

“No surprise there,” Rude chuckled and Reno’s stomach twisted into knots again. “So, you ready to babysit the rookies on patrols?”

Not remotely, but that was the hierarchy of things in the Turks. Reno and Rude were the newest initiates, so it was their job to lead the trainees in sector patrols. Reno had been overly eager to go on patrols during his own training and he cringed at the thought of so much exuberance from whatever rookies he got assigned to, this early in the morning and with a hangover no less.

“I might need more coffee.”

“Tseng sent out the group assignments. You’re with Shotgun and Two-Guns.”

Reno slumped down further in his chair with a long, dramatic groan. “I swear to the Gods, Tseng knows I can’t stand them and paired me with them specifically to spite me.”

“I don’t know if Tseng’s quite that vindictive, Reno-”

“Oh,” Reno looked up at Rude, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, “he’s not being vindictive. No, no, no. I’ll bet you a million gil if you asked him about it, he’d say it’s necessary for team building or whatever bullshit.” He waved a hand irritably. “Cohesion is important, but who says those two dopes are gonna pass the exam anyway? Spoiled rich-girl-Rufus-Shinra-lite and Don Corneo’s thug. I’d rather bash my brains in right now.”

“Well,” Rude offered, “I’m sure that would be an option if you tell Tseng you don’t want to do it.”

“ _Thanks_.”

After a few more minutes, they met the rookies in the training hall, where they also found Cissnei. Their ‘newest’ recruit still unnerved Reno. She didn’t talk about her past at all, but she showed a remarkable and unwavering loyalty to Veld - more so even than Tseng. When one of the rookies probed her about her feelings on Professor Hollander defecting, she remained tight-lipped about it, as a good Turk ought to, Reno guessed. He figured she must be secretly torn up about it. For all intents and purposes Hollander had raised her. He was probably the closest thing she had to a dad.

Sad life. Sephiroth wasn’t so different.

It was really no wonder so many SOLDIERS had deserted recently.

Rude was assigned to the two martial artists: a big brute of a kid and a skinny little wisp of nothing girl, Cissnei took the rest, then they made their way out to their assigned sectors. Reno had been tasked with making a sweep of Sector 8, so without exchanging many words, he barked at Shotgun and Two-Guns to follow him and they made their way out of Sector 0.

Rush hour was a good time to patrol because the streets were busy and it was the best time to weed out the rats. Patrols were ultimately a pointless waste of time. Most of the time it was a task for security officers permanently stationed in the sectors, but the Turks took over from time to time to look for less obvious offenses against Shinra. A security officer was all fine and good for breaking up some loud-mouthed rabble-rousers but they rarely noticed anything beneath the surface, which was where the Turks came in.

“Alright, listen up,” Reno said as he lit up a cigarette. “I’ve got a headache and I hate babysitting so we’re gonna make this quick. Stay in touch on the comms at all times. If you don’t answer when I call, the chief is gonna hear about it.”

“Are you hungover?” Two-Guns asked, crossing his arms and glowering at Reno.

“No, it’s just a look I’m going for.” Reno rolled his eyes and took a long drag from his cigarette. “You patrol the west side of the sector. Shotgun, you take the right. I’ll go down the center here.”

“What exactly are we looking for, sir?”

Reno bristled at being addressed as sir. Nobody had ever called him ‘sir’ before. Did he look like a fucking ‘sir’ now?

“Well, you know,” he shrugged, gesturing broadly with his arms, “Obvious stuff like idiot kids putting up anti-Shinra posters. But also anything suspicious. There’s a lot of anti-Shinra sentiment going around with the whole war against Wutai. You hear people saying shit about it, just kind of…” Reno puffed his chest out, “look intimidating. Tell ‘em. Make it clear we don’t stand for that shit.”

“So we’re just bullying rich liberals into only discussing the war in their houses?” Two-Guns asked, knitting his brow.

“Look, these patrols don’t achieve much, okay? It’s mostly to get you acquainted with the city and know what to look out for when trouble does pop up. Which it _does_. One of my patrols as a trainee we caught a guy building a bomb in his basement. Just make a sweep and report back anything suspicious, okay?”

“Fine.” Two-Guns pulled his pistol from his side holster and walked away toward the west end of the sector. Shotgun gave Reno a withering look and headed off to the east.

“Insubordination,” Reno mumbled. Then he sauntered off to find a coffee shop.

Rather than do his job - which really what was he going to turn up in one of the richest sectors in the city? - Reno took a seat at a table outside the cafe where he grabbed his coffee and sat alternating between sipping his drink and puffing on his cigarette until his headache finally began to ebb. Maybe if he was lucky, Two-Guns would fall victim to some tragic accident and he’d be out of Reno’s hair.

Nah, they’d find a way to blame Reno for it.

After a few minutes of lazing around, Shotgun’s voice sounded, breathless, in Reno’s ear piece.

“Hey, uh…Reno, sir?”

“This better not be a waste of my time,” he grumbled.

Shotgun took a few deep breaths, “I just um…ran into two men in uniform. I overheard them talking about an infiltration job. I chased them a few blocks and they engaged. One is dead and the other is incapacitated, but I think I might need backup. There’s chatter over their comms…we might be looking at a lot of troops.”

Reno scrambled out of his chair. “What? What kind of uniforms? What did they look like?”

“Military…desert camo colors. They’re definitely not with Shinra.”

“Send me your location, I’ll meet you there,” Two-Guns sounded on the comms.

“That’s my line, brainless,” Reno growled. “Listen, lay low until we get to you. Don’t engage if you see any more of them, but follow if it’s safe to do so.”

“Yes, sir!”

Shotgun sent her location and Reno hurried across the sector to meet her on the east end. He was really too hungover to be dealing with an actual crisis, and if he was being honest with himself, he was a little worried he wouldn’t be able to handle a fight in his current state.

When he reached Shotgun, she and Two-Guns were exchanging blows with three men in tan jumpsuits with military visors and weapons that looked a hell of a lot like they had been fabricated off of Shinra schematics. Reno stepped into help them, his stomach lurching unpleasantly as he flipped over the back of one of the militants and spun around to smash his EMR into her side. She stumbled backward and attempted to fire on him, but he met the side of her skull with his rod and she crumpled to the ground.

The fight didn’t last long and when it was over, Reno braced his hands against his knees and vomited all over the pavement.

“ _Blegh_ ,” he groaned.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Two-Guns said.

Reno gave him a withering look. “Watch it, kid, I’m your superior.”

“Don’t call me kid, you-”

“Unit twelve come in,” One of the comm boxes on the dead militants sounded and Reno walked over to pick it up. “I repeat, this is Avalanche One, unit twelve, do you copy?”

Reno stared at the comm and then cleared his throat, doing his best to lower his voice. “Unit twelve copy,” he answered.

“You really think that’s going to-” Two-Guns started, but he was interrupted by the response on the comms.

“All units are converging on the rear entrance to the reactor. Rendezvous in ten minutes.”

“Copy that,” Reno answered, pocketing the comm box. He looked between Shotgun and Two-Guns with a sigh. “We’ve got a real problem on our hands. Now hold on.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Veld, who failed to answer because of course he did - the chief was always busy with something. That of course left Tseng as the next point of contact, unfortunately.

The phone barely rang once before Tseng picked up. “Reno.”

“Hey,” Reno huffed. “We’ve got some trouble in Sector Eight.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Whole bunch of yahoos in military gear descending on the sector eight reactor,” Reno explained. “We took out a few of them, but they’re well-armed…these weapons look like Shinra models without the Shinra logo on them. We might need some backup.”

“I’ll notify the chief and Heidegger. For now I need the three of you to get to the reactor entrance and head off as many as you can.”

“Ah man, do we really gotta bring Heidegger into this?” Reno complained. The line went dead, which was answer enough. He pocketed his phone and turned to his subordinates, who looked at him expectantly. _That’s right, I’m in charge, kids._ “Well, you heard the man. Let’s go!”

He took off and the others hurried after him.

“We don’t know how many units there are,” Shotgun said. “We’re going to be outnumbered.”

“It’s no big deal,” Reno lied. Three Turks against an unknown number of well-armed, well-trained (if their last battle was any indication) militant units was in fact a big deal. “We’re just holding them off until the cavalry arrives.”

“That’s putting a lot of faith in old horse-mouth,” Two-Guns muttered.

Reno chuckled. Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all.

As luck would have it, when they arrived at the reactor entrance, Rude and his rookies were already engaged in battle with more than a dozen troops swarming the gate. A helicopter flew by overhead with more troops rappelling from the sides. Reno paused for a millisecond to consider how the hell these troops and their choppers had bypassed Midgar tower control, but that would be a job for later - right now they needed to deal with the immediate problem.

Rude was having his ass handed to him and that riled Reno up enough to charge into the fray, swinging his EMR with the electricity powered up, batting left and right to clear a path to Rude and his rookies. Reno leaped into the air with a wail like a banshee and landed a spine-shattering blow against the back of the Avalanche troop assaulting Rude.

“Hey, partner, thought you could use a hand,” Reno grinned at him.

Rude laughed, wiping some sweat from his face and moving back-to-back with Reno with practiced ease. “I dunno. Think I could have handled it.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I’ll thank you if we get out of this in one piece.”

“You can count on it.”

They moved in lockstep, holding the troops off from the door with the rookies at their side. Rude would swing, Reno would duck, roll under him and go for the legs. It was almost like a dance, a certain gracefulness to their synchronized movements. As much as Reno knew he could grate on Rude’s nerves, they were a hell of a team on the field. He knew that was why Veld had paired them together, but he was more grateful for it than Veld would ever know.

“That backup could get here any time,” Rude panted, sweat dripping down his brow.

Reno’s head was back to throbbing and only the adrenaline pumping through his veins was keeping him from hurling up the contents of his stomach again. More troops must have been flooding in, because they had taken down a dozen already and still more descended upon them.

“Who are these fuckheads anyway?” Reno growled.

“Search me.” Rude grappled with one of them, caught him in a stranglehold, and wrenched his head to break his neck.

“Whoever was giving the orders called themselves Avalanche One,” Reno explained as he slammed his EMR into the side of an oncoming militant’s neck.

“Avalanche, huh? These dissidents are getting real bold.”

“Wonder if Wutai sent them.”

Rude nodded. “Hard to tell where Wutai ends and these offshoots begin sometimes.”

“One hell of a mess,” Reno agreed.

The backup arrived in the form of a few third-class SOLDIERS and a few dozen security officers, which wasn’t the best possible option, but considering how thin the ranks were in SOLDIER those days, the Turks would have to take what they could get. Around the same time that Heidegger’s men boxed the militants in, Reno’s phone rang.

“What’s the word, Chuckles?” he answered.

Tseng sighed. “Reactor cameras captured militants on the feed. Four of them.”

“What!?” Reno hissed. “How the hell did they get in?”

“Obviously, the assault on the gate was a distraction,” Tseng said it slowly, as though giving Reno time to catch up with his enormous brain.

“Okay, thanks for the explanation,” Reno growled.

“I need you to get inside and stop them. We believe they’re planning to plant explosives at the reactor core.”

“Ah, fuck. All right. We’re on it.”

“What did Tseng say?” Rude asked.

Reno answered as they doubled back out of the fray with the rookies, allowing the SOLDIERS to swoop in and clean house.

“We need to get inside. This was a distraction. They’re going to plant a bomb. Look, we’ll go in through the east side of the reactor and you and your rookies go in through the west side. That’ll flush them out one way or another.”

“Good thinking, partner,” Rude grinned at him and Reno could have killed him for it.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. They made their way into the reactor, slowing their pace and creeping along the ramparts into the belly of beast.

“Now keep quiet and keep your eyes peeled for any of those dipshits in camo,” Reno whispered.

To their credit, Shotgun and Two-Guns both followed his lead, tip-toeing along the sky walks, looking for any signs of the militants. The closer they got to the core, the stronger the acrid smell of mako became. Reno hated the stench of it; it reminded him of the SOLDIER initiation, listening to those hopeless, foolhardy kids scream as it ate at their skin and tore through their insides.

He shook the thought from his head. Thank fuck he wasn’t a SOLDIER.

The militants were getting ready to plant the explosives when Reno spotted them stationed on a platform suspended above a sea of churning mako. One of the militants was messing with the reactor controls while the other dug the explosives out of a bag. The third man seemed to be the leader. He wore the same drab beige attire, with a green bandanna over his head, directing the two men and glancing around periodically for any sign of trouble.

“Follow my lead,” Reno said, then he launched himself from the sky walk and landed gracefully just behind the militants.

The leader whirled around to face him. “Turks,” he spat. “Not surprised.”

“You put on a hell of a show out there,” Reno said, clapping his hands condescendingly.

The leader took up a defensive stance, holding his fists forward. “Don’t stop planting that bomb,” he called back to his subordinates.

Reno nodded at the other two militants, “Go take care of that, will ya?” Shotgun and Two-Guns rushed forward and Reno leaped in the way before the militant leader could pursue them. “Uh-uhn,” he chided. “Just you and me, buddy.”

“Have it your way then, Shinra cocksucker,” he spat at the ground.

“Oo, I like that better than lapdog,” Reno laughed and launched himself at the man.

Reno prided himself on his speed. Helped along by a constant supply of haste materia, Reno was far and away the fastest member of the Turks, even on a bad day. He could run circles around his colleagues - something Rude marveled at when Reno’s diet consisted primarily of cigarettes and alcohol. Point being, Reno was _damn fast_.

This militant _fucker_ was matching him step for step. He _must_ have been using haste materia too. There was no other explanation for his speed. Every time Reno tried to rush behind him, the militant leader blocked him with ease. It took Reno a good five minutes just to land a blow, and in return, the leader gripped his _active EMR_ like it was fucking nothing, tossing it to the side and bull-rushing Reno.

Before he even knew what was happening, Reno was flat on his back with a fist rapidly approaching his face. He tried to roll, but the militant’s other arm was blocking him. The punch landed square in the side of his cheek and his vision went black, though he was sure he could still hear the chaos happening around him.

“Avalanche one, come in. Orders to withdraw in place. Prime target is in Junon. Repeat prime target is in Junon. This order supersedes all previous orders.”

Reno wasn’t sure how long he was out before he awoke to Shotgun and Two-Guns standing over him. His head was throbbing and his rookies looked as beat up as he felt: Shotgun had a fat lip and Two-Guns was sporting a black eye.

“What the hell happened?” Reno asked. Outside of a sparring match with his trainers, it was the first time he had ever lost a fight since he became a Turk. He rubbed his swollen cheek and struggled to sit up.

“We stopped them from detonating the explosives,” Shotgun explained. “But their leader was too fast and too strong. He overpowered us and fled on new orders. It sounds like they’re moving in on Junon.”

“Fuck me,” Reno moaned. “Shotgun, figure out where the hell Rude and his team went.” He ordered while he fished his phone from his pocket. “Yo, Tseng.”

An audible sigh, “What’s your status, Reno?”

“We ran into some big trouble in the reactor, but we stopped the detonation. Look, these freaks are calling themselves Avalanche and they’re pulling out to head for Junon. You know anything about Junon?”

“The President is holding a press conference in Junon,” Tseng said, an audible note of concern in his voice. “Reno are you able to carry out another assignment or should I send in a replacement?”

With some effort, Reno pulled himself to his feet. “I can handle it. I’ll bring the rookies with me.”

“I’m sending an express helicopter now. You’ll be on the President’s detail until he returns safely to Shinra Tower.”

“Not a problem.”

Reno would just _love_ a rematch with that smug Avalanche asshole.

* * *

Tseng found himself in the executive conference room with Veld, Heidegger, Lazard, Sephiroth, Zack, and Rufus Shinra. With the President in Junon for a press conference - a conference, Tseng noted with no small joy, he had conspicuously excluded Rufus from - this was the contingent left behind to address the sudden emergence of a very serious terrorist threat.

For as often as Reno irritated Tseng and flaunted his insubordination, Tseng had to admit he was handling this situation remarkably well. There was a reason he had become a Turk in the first place, after all.

“So tell me,” Rufus drawled from the head of the table where his father usually sat, “how is it that six unmarked helicopters made it past Midgar Tower Control and deployed…how many troops was it again, Veld?”

“Four dozen, sir,” Veld answered diplomatically.

“Four dozen troops onto the streets of Sector Eight.” Rufus smirked - that irritating self-righteous little prick - and continued, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it the job of the Public Safety department to keep the public safe?” Heidegger was the head of their department, but he directed the question squarely at Veld.

Heidegger did not step in for Veld.

“That is correct, sir,” Veld answered. “However the Turks are not responsible for air traffic control-”

“Your men were on the ground patrolling the sector, weren’t they?” Rufus demanded.

“My men are the only reason that the Sector Eight reactor still stands,” said Veld, the faintest hint of an edge to his voice.

“No one’s pointing fingers,” Lazard offered, which earned him a look of pure fury from Rufus.

“On the contrary,” Rufus interjected. “I’m pointing my finger squarely where the blame lies.”

Heidegger’s phone rang and Rufus glared at him. Was this what it would be like when Rufus inevitably took over? Tseng understood perfectly well what Rufus was getting at. It was disconcerting that any helicopter had made it past air traffic control, let alone six of them. That, coupled with Reno’s reports that the dissident weapons resembled Shinra schematics raised concern for a mole in the ranks. Rufus was trying to weed that out - he obviously suspected a Turk, but he was letting his bias cloud his judgment. Not that Tseng himself would rule out the Turks completely, but he was far more suspicious of one of Heidegger’s men. After all, more than half of SOLDIER recently defected, who was to say some of them hadn’t stayed behind to funnel company secrets out?

Maybe this was tied to Rhapsodos and Hewley somehow.

Heidegger dabbed at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “It’s your father, sir.”

Rufus rolled his eyes. “Well answer it.”

“Sir.” Heidegger answered his phone and the rest of the group waited in tense silence while he conversed with the president.

Sephiroth was still as a statue, face completely blank, staring unseeing at the wall. If Tseng hadn’t seen him so emotional the last time they met, he would have believed the rumors that he was a Shinra robot programmed to do nothing but kill. It was a stark contrast to Zack seated by his side, tapping his foot against the floor and watching the scene play out with the eager face of a curious puppy.

It should have annoyed Tseng, but there was something infuriatingly endearing about the boy.

“Understood, sir. Right away.” Heidegger hung up the phone, his normally ruddy face noticeably paler. “The President has been shot.”

There was a chorus of startled exclamations. It didn’t escape Tseng’s notice that Rufus was the only one who maintained a neutral expression at the news.

“He’s being attended to. Nothing fatal,” Heidegger explained, clearing his throat and regaining some of his color. “One of the dissidents managed to reach his quarters while the Turks on his detail were otherwise occupied.” He flashed a dangerous look at Veld and then Rufus went for the throat.

“You realize, of course, how poorly this reflects on your team, Veld. Your men were assigned to protect my father and they left him alone?”

“I’m sure the-” Veld began to defend himself, but Rufus cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear excuses. I want answers.”

Tseng bristled and did his best to maintain his composure as Rufus glowered directly at him.

“Sir, if I may,” Heidegger said. “The dissidents have rerouted their attack to the Sister Ray. According to your father, he asked the Turks to leave him in his secured quarters to deal with the new situation.”

Rufus’ face visibly fell at this news. “And what do they want with the Sister Ray?” Rufus demanded.

“That information was unclear,” Heidegger explained. He turned his attention to Veld, brow furrowing. “Get your men on the line right now and figure out what the hell they’re doing. If they aren’t single-handedly stopping those dissidents from taking control of the mako cannon then I want to know why the hell they thought leaving the President unsecured was acceptable, even on his orders.”

Heidegger was obsequious to whoever held the most power in the room and condescending to everyone else.

While Veld got Reno on the phone, Heidegger began barking orders at Lazard to get Sephiroth deployed on an express helicopter immediately. Zack, who had just recently been promoted to first, piped in asking if his assistance would be needed.

“You’ll go when we give you the order to go,” Heidegger snapped.

Zack’s face fell and Tseng felt a little pang of sadness for him. He was just so naive about the way Shinra operated and until now he had never been in an executive meeting like this.

Lazard stood up and pushed his chair in. “Come with me, Sephiroth.”

“Of course, sir.” Sephiroth bowed his head and followed Lazard out of the room.

Veld hung up with Reno and addressed the remainder of the group. “Reno reports that he and the others are in the process of infiltrating the Sister Ray. Avalanche intends to redirect its course toward Midgar. Understandably, it would cause a catastrophic explosion if they are to succeed. Recognizing the power of the mako cannon, I assume the President made the decision to prioritize his city over his own well-being.”

“I’ll hear the words directly from my father’s mouth over your… _assumptions_ ,” Rufus said. “I want a full report on this situation on my desk immediately. And I’d like to conduct a thorough interrogation of your team after this affair.”

Who would conduct the interrogation for him? SOLDIER? They did carry out interrogations on occasion when brute strength was the only means of getting anything out of a prisoner, but they would never be successful interrogating a Turk. Turks were the ones who did such dirty work for Rufus’ father. What did he think he was going to get out of them?

“Whatever you deem necessary, sir,” Veld answered, surely thinking exactly what Tseng was.

Rufus waved his hand. “Then get out of my sight and get it done.” Veld, Tseng, and Zack stood up, but Heidegger remained in his chair near the head of the table. When he failed to move, Rufus huffed loudly, “That means you too, Heidegger.”

Heidegger’s grumble escaped no one’s notice as he pushed past the rest of them to be the first out the door.

Zack audibly exhaled when the conference room door closed behind them. “Are all the executive meetings like that?” He asked Tseng.

“That one was particularly difficult.”

“The vice president seems really riled up about his dad.”

Tseng didn’t think so. He was riled up about a potential mole within the company, certainly, but it was clear his priorities were with Shinra Inc, not his father. His reaction to the news that his father had been shot was bland, verging on irritation when Heidegger announced the injury wasn’t fatal.

Zack parted ways with them on the forty-ninth floor and Veld and Tseng rode the rest of the way down to Turks headquarters. Without speaking, Veld indicated for Tseng to follow him to his office, which he readily did. If a debriefing was in order, Tseng was all too happy to comply. It had been a strange day, turning into a nightmare now that Rufus Shinra had directed all of his ire squarely at the Turks.

Inside Veld’s office, he spoke before Tseng could even take a seat.

“I agree with the vice president that there is undoubtedly a mole - possibly even several - somewhere within the ranks of Shinra. What I do not agree with is that the issue lies in our department, and I’d like to think that isn’t just a personal bias.”

Tseng nodded. “I agree, sir.”

“I’m putting you on a top secret mission, Tseng,” Veld said, his face deadly serious. “I want you to root out just who this mole is. Someone is providing these people with Shinra weapon’s schematics, and I have a feeling if we check with air traffic control, those helicopters were able to identify themselves as Shinra to bypass security.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll begin my investigation right away.”

“Tseng, let me make myself clear. No one is off limits. This kind of access suggests someone high ranking. If you want my own opinion on the matter, I would start with a thorough investigation of Lazard Deusericus. I’ll send you his files.”

Tseng felt stricken. Lazard? His immediate reaction was denial. Lazard was so friendly, so jovial. But wasn’t that antithetical to the behavior of every other Shinra executive? He could understand why Veld would suspect him, even if Tseng didn’t want to consider it himself.

In answer, he nodded solemnly. “No one is off limits. Understood, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get a chapter up before Christmas! I took off next week so I'm hoping to get some writing in while I'm otherwise relaxing. I hope everyone enjoys the holidays!


	11. Shift of Power

The time had come for Tseng’s monthly check-in with Aerith, but as of late, he had been so overwhelmed with work that he nearly forgot entirely about his longest-running assignment. Between missions, he was saddled with so many additional assignments that he was lucky if he was getting four hours of sleep a night, which left him running on coffee and haste materia in an effort to stay awake some days. More than once he had passed out in his office without meaning to.

In the aftermath of Avalanche’s shockingly successful assault on Midgar, Tseng had spent all of his free time over the last two months poring over files provided to him by Veld, struggling to piece apart who among them might be potentially assisting the dissident group. Veld’s number one suspect was Lazard, with concerns that perhaps the ongoing situation with Rhapsodos and Hewley could be related to the Avalanche attacks: a systematic attempt to bring Shinra to its knees. Tseng didn’t want to believe that Lazard could be capable of betraying the company in such a manner, but as a Turk he knew exactly how many people wore convincing facades in their day-to-day life. Reading his file, Tseng understood why Veld was suspicious. In addition to his ties to Rhapsodos and Hewley, he had been raised in the slums in an area of Sector 4 well-known for harboring anti-Shinra extremists.

And then there was confirmation of what Tseng already suspected: Lazard Deusericus was the bastard child of President Shinra and a former secretary. She was paid out neatly for the egregious crime of becoming pregnant, then sent away to find work elsewhere.

The only small solace was that as of the day before, the President was in Wutai for peace negotiations - at least the war would be coming to an end, which meant one less mess for the Turks to deal with when they were already stretched thin.

Tseng awoke to his alarm blaring in his ear to find himself passed out face down on his bed with his tablet in one hand and his phone in the other. He didn’t recall falling asleep and had no clue how long he had slept, except that it was most certainly not long enough to make up for his enormous and continually mounting sleep debt. Maomao, who had grown quite large since he first brought her home - and for whom he hadn’t thought of a better name - lay curled up on his back between his shoulder blades purring loudly in his ear.

Propping himself up just enough to look at his phone without knocking the cat off of his back, Tseng quickly scanned his e-mail to find thirty new messages since whatever time he had fallen asleep. He imagined this was just a small taste of what it was like to be the chief. How did Veld do it? He never seemed to waver, though he _did_ often look exhausted.

A few of the messages were company-wide announcements from HR, which Tseng ignored. Another was from Rufus Shinra addressed to Veld with Heidegger, the President, Lazard, and Tseng copied: “I expect a status report on Avalanche on my desk by noon.”

Tseng could think of a different place he’d like to put that status report.

Most importantly, there was a message from Veld with a note marked ‘High Importance’ and a subject line that read: ‘NEW ASSIGNMENT’.

Tseng sighed as he opened it. Like he didn’t already have enough on his plate? Of course, he wasn’t going to complain. After all, what was his job if not his life?

The assignment detailed within was a request to scout the abandoned mako reactor at Modeoheim on the Northern Continent due to reported sightings of Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley. Another assignment Sephiroth refused, though it seemed he had been brought along to Wutai for the peace negotiations as reassurance and was otherwise preoccupied.

The trouble with Rhapsodos never ended. Just a few weeks after Avalanche launched their assault on the Sector Eight reactor, Rhapsodos or his clones, Tseng wasn’t quite sure, managed to break into Shinra Tower to aid Professor Hollander in lifting important scientific documents from the research and development department. Tseng had been on a mission south of the Mythril Mines and missed the entire affair, but Reno and Cissnei had recounted the story to him with excited gestures.

Cissnei was professional and easy to work with, but when she was in a room with Reno it was like setting loose a bull in a porcelain shop. They behaved like siblings, bickering almost constantly except when it came time to band together to achieve a common goal, in which case they got along to a degree that unnerved Tseng. Reno would complain that Cissnei was ‘kind of creepy’ when she wasn’t around, just to work alongside her to pull a prank on one of their fellow colleagues (usually Emma). Perhaps they got along because Reno was childish and Cissnei _was_ a child. Either way, listening to them regale him with the story of Hollander’s second escape from Shinra Tower left Tseng exhausted.

Once Tseng caught up on his e-mail, he was forced to get up, carefully shifting his shoulders to try and detach Maomao from his back, though she clung onto him with her claws at the last minute and scratched his skin. In his absence, she curled up on his pillow and gave him a contemptuous look.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I can’t be your cat bed all day.”

She meowed loudly and continued to stare at him. She was the only creature in the world that could make him feel guilty with just a look.

Tseng had to hurry to get ready, pulling on his suit, scarfing down a protein shake, feeding the cat, and running out the door to catch the train down into the Sector Five slums. He wouldn’t have much time to spend checking in on Aerith - Veld’s message had been clear to rendezvous with Zack and Lazard as soon as possible, no later than noon. While he sat on the train chugging a coffee he picked up at the station, he sent Veld his updated report on Avalanche and briefly pondered if he could get away with the first letter of every row of the report spelling out ‘FUCK YOU VP’ but it was more effort than it was worth.

A light drizzle picked up, but disappeared as the train descended below the cover of the plate. That was one benefit of plate-cover, not that it outweighed the many negatives. The trek through Sector Five was second-nature after so many years of monthly trips to check on Aerith, and Tseng knew she would likely be tending the flowers in the abandoned church at the edge of the Sector. He didn’t mind an excuse to bypass an interaction with Elmyra, who never really backed down from the confrontational nature she had at their first meeting. Her gun was always visibly on display whenever Tseng stopped by.

It was too bad, really. Tseng liked Elmyra, even though he knew she hated him. He knew one day it might come down to an actual fight between them and he also knew she would die before she let Shinra take Aerith. He wasn’t keen to be the hand by which she died, but he wouldn’t pass the task to anyone else.

As Tseng suspected, he found Aerith leaning over the flowers in her church, but he stopped just inside the doorway at the unexpected presence of a second figure - a familiar one at that.

“Zack?” Tseng asked.

Both Zack and Aerith looked up from their place near the altar at the front of the church.

“Tseng? What are you doing down here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Tseng walked down the aisle and stood by the edge of a crumbling pew. “Did you not receive the message from your supervisor? We have a new assignment.”

Aerith looked between the two of them with a deepening frown. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you two know each other.”

“Know each other?” Zack beamed, smacking Tseng’s back with so much force that he stumbled forward - this made Aerith giggle. “We’re buddies. Right, Tseng?”

“Er-” Tseng straightened himself up and adjusted his tie.

“Well, you know how he is,” said Zack, covering the side of his mouth as though this somehow shielded Tseng from hearing him. Aerith nodded very seriously and the two of them burst into a fit of giggles.

“How do you two know each other?” Tseng demanded.

“Hey, how did you know I’d be down here anyway?” Zack asked, ignoring Tseng’s question entirely.

Tseng sighed and looked between the two teenagers in front of him feeling for all the world like a glorified babysitter. Aerith fixed him with a pleading look, brows furrowed, and he understood what she was asking of him. Zack didn’t know who, or _what_ , she was and she wanted to keep it that way. Could he really blame her? She wanted a normal life, but she would never have that.

“Answer my question first,” Tseng said.

“I fell through the roof after that last assignment chasing down Hol-er…you know who,” Zack explained, pointing to a large hole in the ceiling. “Aerith was here and she made sure I was okay. We chatted for a while and then she took me back to her house to have dinner with her and her mom. So now when I have time between missions sometimes I come down here and help Aerith with the flowers. Hey! How do _you_ know Aerith?” He folded his arms and frowned at Tseng.

“She’s a potential SOLDIER candidate,” said Tseng without affect. Aerith covered her mouth as she fought back another giggle.

“Wha…?” Zack gave Tseng an incredulous look, but as his gaze moved to Aerith, he shook his head. “You’re pulling my leg.” He smacked Tseng’s shoulder. “You really are funny, man.”

Tseng pursed his lips. “I’m not. As much as I’d love to continue chatting. We need to get back to headquarters.” Tseng checked his watch. They still had a few hours before the noon deadline, but the sooner they saw this mission through, the better. He was sick of dealing with SOLDIERS and the mess they were making.

Zack’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, okay.” He grabbed Aerith’s hands and her cheeks flushed and it suddenly struck Tseng that this was more than two teenagers bonding with one another after a chance meeting. He took a few steps back to allow them some privacy in saying their goodbyes. “I’ll come visit as soon as I’m back from my mission, okay?”

“Only if you want to,” Aerith said.

“Of course I want to. I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

It would have been sweet if Tseng didn’t know what the logical conclusion to the situation was. It was puppy love at best, and even puppy love between two normal children didn’t last. But neither Zack nor Aerith was a _normal_ teenager. Zack was a SOLDIER, property of Shinra until he either outlived his usefulness or died on the field, and Aerith would one day have to return to Shinra Tower as well. If anyone at headquarters found out about the two of them, even as innocent as it seemed, there would be consequences.

Who was Tseng to get in the way of it? Better to let it fizzle out on its own, as such infatuation did. When Zack was older and a little less naive, he would understand that he could never have a sense of normalcy with Aerith.

Zack and Aerith hugged goodbye and Zack bounded down the aisle to meet Tseng, beaming from ear to ear. It was that bubbly canine disposition that stayed Tseng’s hand. Perhaps Maomao wasn’t the only creature who could guilt-trip him after all.

* * *

Rude sat at the table in the Turks’ conference room listening with mounting irritation as Reno tapped his fingers rhythmically against the tabletop. The entire department had been called to a meeting, undoubtedly to address the clusterfuck that was current affairs. In the span of a few months, SOLDIER had lost half its men and started a miniature war against Shinra _and_ a new and very serious threat had arisen in the form of the most formidable anti-Shinra dissident group on the scene: Avalanche. All of this had turned the Turks from a group of trained spies and assassins to fill-in brute-force labor. All of Rude and Reno’s missions lately revolved around Avalanche or SOLDIER.

The most recent incident in a long string of issues surrounding the two crises (three if the war was counted) had been a break-in at Shinra headquarters that resulted in a chase through the upper plate to try and apprehend Professor Hollander, who, after making the monumentally stupid mistake to defect from Shinra, had made the even dumber mistake to return in an effort to steal valuable Shinra documents.

Rude was sick of the whole thing, frankly. It was exhausting. He missed missions that entailed real honest-to-Gods espionage. All he had done for the last few months was knock heads together and occasionally have his ass handed to him.

Veld entered the conference room five minutes after the meeting start time and took a seat at the head of the table. “Good, it looks like we’re all here. Tseng is on assignment in relation to the Rhapsodos situation and Balto is on the President’s detail in Wutai, but we have a new assignment for the rest of the group.” Veld observed his employees with a frown. “Before anyone thinks about complaining, please know this order came down from the President himself. I know we’ve been going through a…difficult time with the emergence of so many new threats, but this is part of what it means to be a Turk.”

Beside Rude, Reno muttered beneath his breath, “Shoot me now.”

They would, if he complained too much.

“Before I get to the assignment, I wanted to share a bit of positive news. The President is in Wutai right now working on a ceasefire treaty with Godo Kisaragi. If all goes according to plan, the war in Wutai will be at an end and that will be one less issue on our hands. The negotiations should allow for permanently increased Shinra military presence in Wutai, which we _hope_ will dissuade any dissident groups that have been spurred to action in the wake of Avalanche’s success.”

And it was a success. Rude and Reno had been battered and bruised by their first encounter with the group during their siege on the Sector Eight reactor. Reno’s subsequent shakedown in Junon had not gone much better. Not only was Avalanche making the Turks look bad, but it had the vice president breathing down their neck about their failure to do their jobs.

Gods, Rude hated Rufus Shinra.

“The news reports about the peace treaty should be issued tomorrow,” Veld explained. “Barring any need for our assistance, we will all be updated at the same time as every other Shinra employee. Now, to the issue at hand. As you all are well aware, between the ongoing situation with Rhapsodos and Hewley and the war, SOLDIERS numbers are at a record low. Director Deusericus and the President have asked for the Turks assistance in recruiting new members to the department.”

A hushed whisper rippled across the table at this. They all knew exactly what a SOLDIER had to endure to move on to basic training. Personally, Rude wanted no part in convincing innocent people to join up when the likelihood they would survive the initiation was less than ten percent.

“I understand your hesitation,” Veld continued. “However, as with all of our assignments, we must carry out the request without complaint. Director Deusericus has put added emphasis on targeting potential recruits with the…appropriate qualities to endure the initiation procedure. We’ll be sending out three units - two inland units and a coastal unit - to scour cities for recruits. The President has promised an incentive of a monetary bonus to the team who brings in the most recruits.”

No one at the table seemed all that motivated by the potential bonus. Turks were well paid precisely _because_ of what they did for Shinra. A few thousand extra gil hardly seemed worth condemning hopeful Shinra-fanatics to a painful death - or a lifetime of servitude if they survived.

Rude was thankful literally every day that he had been provided the opportunity to join the Turks, rather than SOLDIER.

“Sir, what do we do if they don’t want to come with us?” One of the rookies asked.

“Shouldn’t it be obvious?” Emma snapped. “If someone’s a good match, they come whether they want to or not.”

Veld nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately that is the case.”

He looked down at his tablet with a sigh and began to read out the assignments. Reno, Rude, Cissnei, Shotgun, and Two-Guns were being assigned to the coastal unit.

“Sweet deal,” said Reno, “We can sit out on the ship deck and sunbathe in between stops.”

“Awfully cavalier attitude, Reno,” Cissnei said.

“Awfully big word there, Cissy,” Reno bit back.

Rude groaned. It was going to be a very long assignment.

* * *

Apart from a few missteps, Rufus’ decision to fund an anti-Shinra extremist eco-terrorist group was going swimmingly. Providing money and city schematics had successfully befuddled his father’s lapdogs enough for an opportunity to strike at Junon during his father’s press conference. How the hell the Avalanche operative failed to lethally shoot the President when he had a moment alone with him was beyond Rufus, but it at least proved to him that Avalanche was capable of killing the President at some point. He had admittedly been angry, bordering on furious with the failure, but it was easy to pass off that ferocity as irritation with the Turks’ failure to protect his father.

He was going to kill two birds with one stone.

The Turks had no clue that it was Rufus funding the group and he was confident he could continue to hide it from them. Looking through their files, it was clear where they were currently directing their efforts and if Rufus could pin the blame on his bastard half brother, all the better.

Rufus had not seen Elfe since their first meeting, but he spoke often with her and her two co-conspirators: a man named Fuhito who seemed to be the brains of the operation and a man named Shears whose strongest personality trait was an unwavering loyalty to Elfe. Every week they shared a conference call in which Rufus doled out money and information and in turn they did his bidding, because at that particular moment in time his bidding happened to be tearing Shinra apart from the inside out and claiming the remains as his rightful inheritance. In a way, Rufus’ relationship with Avalanche wasn’t so different from his father’s relationship to the Turks - so that’s how he began to think of them: his Turks.

He wasn’t stupid enough, however, to think that their loyalty went any further than his wallet.

“The Turks are on the move again,” Rufus explained to Elfe. “They’re scouting SOLDIERS. Their success means more brute strength to fight back against your people, so I hope you can appreciate the importance of cutting them off at the pass.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” said Elfe. “If I can kill a Turk and keep an innocent person from being experimented on by those freaks in labcoats then I will. Where are they headed? I’ll have our troops sent out as soon as possible.”

“I’ll send you the route they’re taking. There’s three teams, but considering how substantial your little army has grown thanks to me, it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” Rufus asked.

“And what of the files you promised us?” Fuhito interrupted.

“What of them? _I’m_ funding you. _I’m_ providing you valuable inside information. You’ll get the files when I’m ready to hand them over.”

Fuhito had requested archived files from Hojo’s laboratory, highly restricted. So highly restricted, in fact, that they were kept under lock and key in Veld’s office. There were only two people at Shinra allowed to request them: Hojo and the President. This meant Rufus needed to find a way to break into Veld’s office and get his hands on the files, which was a big risk for a group he was only using to try and make his father look like a weak idiot before he killed him.

“Those files would be our biggest weapon against Shinra,” Fuhito protested.

Elfe said something to him that Rufus couldn’t pick up, then she addressed the group at large, “We’ll focus on the Turks,” she said. “Send us their routes. And the agreed upon money. You know, Mr. Shinra, you really should come see our base in person some time. I think you’d be impressed with what we’ve done with your gil.”

Rufus smirked. He wouldn’t mind another run-in with Elfe, but he wasn’t planning on flying himself out to Wutai anytime soon, even _with_ an impending peace treaty.

“I’ll keep it under consideration. I’m sending you the route information now.” He hung up without another word, sent the information, and stepped out of his office.

If he was going to get the files for Fuhito, now was a better time than any. All of the Turks had been sent out a day earlier to scout SOLDIERS and the few who remained would undoubtedly be home in bed. It was nearly three in the morning and while the Shinra building never truly slept, it was the quietest it would be.

Rufus had been given access to Turks’ headquarters - something normally only afforded to the President himself - in order to oversee their investigation of the mole and ‘ensure they were thoroughly vetted themselves’. It was a fun game to play, pretending and implying that perhaps Veld was the one to blame for the information leak, knowing all the while that it was Rufus himself who was leading the coup.

The Turks made their home down in the basement, their floor overlooking the slums from high above, close to the very underside of the plate. It was a dismal view, all those dilapidated buildings and dead earth. Rufus had the fleeting thought that his father could benefit from such a view - when was the last time the President descended below the plate? Not that Rufus could really blame him: it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

Rufus crept down the hallway around to a set of doors on the exterior wall. He knew one of them belonged to Veld and one was the executive office, but he couldn’t recall which. He scanned his identification card against the first door and it chirped affirmatively, allowing him access within.

He slid inside as quietly as he could, turning around to observe the office only to find, to his immense irritation, _Tseng_ of all people seated at one of the desks staring at him with a look of shock. His arm was in a sling and one of his legs was wrapped in a cast, which was fine by Rufus. This evened the odds, since Rufus knew he couldn’t take Tseng on his own when he was at full strength.

“What are you doing here?” Tseng balked.

“What, no ‘sir’?” Rufus laughed. Tseng’s brow furrowed. “The President gave me access to this area in order to carry out my _investigation_. What are you doing here so late? Some people might start to get suspicious about behavior like that.”

“Forgive me, _sir_ ,” Tseng bit back, “I didn’t know it was a crime to work late.”

 _Of course_ he was working late. It would only figure that of all the Turks still hanging around, Rufus would run into Tseng, his glorified babysitter. Their relationship was contentious at best: Rufus knew Tseng disliked him (he had made that abundantly clear some years earlier when he called him a ‘cunt’) and Tseng knew Rufus hated the Turks. In fact, Tseng was really the only Turk with whom Rufus had been overly vocal about his distaste for the group.

According to the Turks’ files, Tseng was also the one in charge of uncovering the mole.

“What happened to your arm and leg?” Rufus asked.

“I was injured on my last mission.” He settled back into his chair, but continued to watch Rufus like a hawk. “If you’re here to carry out a search for your investigation, then be my guest.”

Rufus glowered at him. “I was looking for Veld’s office.”

“At three in the morning?” Tseng asked. “Some people might start to get suspicious about behavior like that.”

“Look at you,” Rufus smirked. “Not the same obsequious little lapdog you were when we first met, are you?”

Tseng said nothing, but he met Rufus’ gaze with a dark and disconcerting ferocity. There was a fire in his eyes and Rufus enjoyed playing with fire. He crossed the office and stood in front of Tseng, leaning over his chair and invading his space with a practiced ease, deriving a twisted pleasure from the way Tseng tensed at his presence.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” Rufus said. “No one is off limits from my investigation. That includes you and your precious leader.”

Rufus was subsequently taken by complete surprise when he found himself knocked flat on his ass with Tseng’s knee on his chest. There were no cameras here, no backup to protect him, and for a fleeting moment Rufus was genuinely frightened. Tseng was more than capable of breaking his neck and disposing of his body without a trace.

Tseng gripped Rufus’ hair at the base of his skull and yanked, which generated some very conflicting reactions inside Rufus’ body. He didn’t know Veld’s most loyal man was capable of anything besides hunching his shoulders and saying ‘yes sir, of course sir’.

“Let _me_ be perfectly clear,” Tseng said, clenching his jaw. “No one is off limits from _my_ investigation. That includes you, _Mr. Vice President._ ”

If Rufus were not so acutely aware of his predicament he might have found it just a little arousing. Instead, a fire was burning in his chest. Tseng had managed to knock him on his ass, but with two broken limbs he couldn’t realistically put up a fight. Rufus pushed him away and he backed off, resuming his seat at his desk and glaring at Rufus.

“I guess we’ll both have to be wary,” said Rufus, clambering back to his feet and brushing himself off.

“I guess so.”

There was no point in pursuing the files now. Rufus stood by the door and gave Tseng one final frown for good measure. “Watch your back, Turk.”

Only when he reached the elevator did Rufus breathe a sigh of relief and allow his body to react fully to the run-in, the rush of adrenaline from the encounter making his limbs quiver. Next time he decided to snoop around Turks’ headquarters, he would be sure to bring his shotgun.

* * *

Rude had never been on a boat in his life. Or a ship. Or any sort of sea-faring vessel. As a result, he very quickly learned that his body didn’t enjoy being out to sea. In the twenty-four hours since his group left Junon on a Shinra frigate, Rude had spent most of that time leaning over the gunwale of the ship emptying the contents of his stomach.

It was safe to say he wasn’t having a good time.

Reno seemed disconcerted by the constant motion of the ship, but so far he hadn’t been ill. Cissnei and the two rookies had no trouble at all.

How was Rude supposed to do his job when he couldn’t stand up straight without immediately bending over to vomit?

“Ah, man you’re still sick?” Reno found him above deck their first night out to sea. He sidled up alongside of him, clutching at the gunwale and peering cautiously over the side. “Long drop, huh?”

Rude groaned and pressed the side of his face against the cool steel of the side railing.

“Sorry you’re having such a lousy time, partner,” Reno offered.

Rude choked down a bit of bile and tried to focus on anything besides the rocking of the ship. To his surprise, Reno placed his palm flat against his back and gently rubbed.

“I dunno if this actually helps, but Madam S used to do it when I had an upset stomach.”

That was the thing about Reno that prevented Rude from completely losing his cool with him at times. He could be so infuriatingly cavalier, absent-minded outside of missions, and delinquent on their paperwork to no end. He was a loud-mouth who chain-smoked and drank sometimes to excess and yet, he was also so unwaveringly loyal that not once did Rude ever have to question if he could trust his partner. He would go out of his way to do something kind and then pretend it meant nothing, or that he didn’t know what Rude was talking about when Rude brought it up. But Rude had seen him offer money to beggars on the plate, and now he was standing next to Rude trying to make him feel better in the only way he knew how.

“Thanks, Reno,” Rude struggled to smile against the nausea. “It does help.”

“The good news is, we should docking in like an hour.”

While Rude was certain he would collapse as soon as his feet touched solid ground, he was grateful they would be off the ship soon. “Thank the Gods.”

“We should find a doctor while we’re in town,” Reno suggested. “I’ll bet there’s some medicine or materia or something that could help you with the seasickness. Man, Veld really should have figured that out during training, huh?”

Rude laughed weakly. “Might not have made the cut.”

“Nah,” Reno patted his back. “No way they would have disqualified you just for that. Shiva’s tits, though, I can’t imagine if it was just me from our class. I don’t know what I’d do without you, man.”

Rude realized then, for perhaps the first time, that he felt the same way about Reno. He couldn’t have asked for a more loyal or trustworthy partner when their lives were constantly on the line. He needed to tuck that feeling away and remember it every time Reno grated on his nerves.

As Reno promised, the ship docked in Costa del Sol just as the sun was coming up. Reno slung Rude’s arm across his shoulder and helped him off the boat, settling him down onto a bench so he could spend a few minutes adjusting. Cissnei, Shotgun, and Two-Guns followed, all hovering around him expressing varying degrees of concern.

“I should call the chief,” Cissnei said. “There’s no way you can go for weeks like this on that ship. I’ll bet he’d switch you out with one of the other teams.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Rude held his hand up, “but I’ll figure it out.”

Cissnei frowned at him, but didn’t protest. Reno and Rude had been at the bottom of the totem pole amongst the Turks for what felt like forever, but in reality had only been a few years. It was still an adjustment to have other Turks defer to their authority though.

As they sat there allowing Rude some time to recover, Cissnei’s phone rang signaling a call from Veld.

“Chief!” She answered promptly. The conversation was short with several ‘uh-huhs’ and ‘understood, sirs’ from Cissnei before she hung up. As she pocketed her phone, her brow knitted in irritation. “That was Veld. They’re transporting Zack Fair here for an ‘extended leave’. Something major happened in Modeoheim apparently. They want me to keep an eye on him because he’s a flight risk.”

Cissnei often looked far older than sixteen with her uniform on in the heat of battle, but now with an exaggerated pout on her face Rude was reminded of how young she was.

“Babysitting duty,” Reno laughed. “Sucks. You should commiserate with Tseng sometime.”

“Well, anyway,” Cissnei said, ignoring him, “They won’t be here for a few hours, so we have some time to scout.”

“Yeah, yeah why don’t we grab breakfast first?” Reno asked.

Food was the last thing on Rude’s mind, but he wouldn’t mind sitting for a while longer, so he echoed Reno’s sentiment. “It’s barely dawn. Our best shot to scout out recruits is going to be in the evening at the bars. There are a lot of underground fighting rings in Costa. Those won’t be operating until later.”

Cissnei looked a bit put out that she would miss the entire recruiting mission to stick around keeping watch over a SOLDIER - one that could easily overpower a Turk if it came to it. Rude couldn’t blame her, but he also would have traded spots with her in a heartbeat if it meant never stepping foot on that damned ship again.

The rookies weren’t about to protest their superiors’ plans, so the five of them made their way to a little greasy spoon diner overlooking the sea. It was just as their food arrived that Shotgun pointed out the window at a ship unloading a number of sailors at the docks and said,

“Wait a minute…don’t those uniforms look familiar?”

Rude and Reno followed her gaze and Rude’s heart sank as Reno groaned and said,

“Fucking Avalanche.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little ~saucy~ between Tseng and Rufus. But the slow burn will continue for..........quite a while sorry. Hope everyone had a pleasant holiday. I'm hoping to spend some time writing again this weekend since I didn't get much done over the holidays. Thanks as always for reading!


	12. Jealousy

When it rained, it fucking poured. This was an age old adage Reno had never taken much stock in before, but the last few months had been ample evidence for its truth. They had run into Avalanche no fewer than three times on their journey along the coast as they attempted to round up SOLDIER candidates - enough times that it was suspicious, but not enough times to definitively prove the existence of the mole Rufus Shinra (and now the President) kept harping on about. In addition, public interest in SOLDIER was mixed at best. The war with Wutai was over and while there were a handful of plucky young idiots eager to sign up and be the next Sephiroth, most weren’t interested now that the world was in a rare state of peace. This in turn led to a lot of…coercive behavior on the Turks part. Reno never minded a little coercion, but when the end result was an eighty percent chance of death by mako he felt more than a little bad about it. To add to all their trouble, Rude was sick the entire damn time they were on the ship - nothing touched his seasickness, not medicine, not materia, zilch.

They got back to Midgar with far fewer potential SOLDIERS in tow than they originally anticipated only to immediately get handed a report from Veld that Avalanche had bolstered their numbers and there was evidence to suggest a network of spies associated with the militants, which it was now Reno and Rude’s job to uncover, along with the rookies who had somehow become their permanent problem.

Meanwhile Cissnei got a fucking all expenses paid vacation in Costa del Sol for Gods knew how long.

Reno was fucking exhausted. One awful mission followed up by what amounted to patrols - which he had hated enough as a rookie - left him eager to go out and get drunk the minute they had a day off.

So he did, and for once he convinced Rude to come along with him, which meant a trade-off of bypassing Wall Market for the classier bars on the plate. Reno would take it if it meant a night out with Rude, which he enjoyed way more than his nights out on his own.

They should have changed out of their uniforms, but the decision was made after an excruciating day of patrols with the rookies, so instead they made straight for a bar in sector two as soon as their patrol was done. If Tseng had seen them out in their uniforms he would have undoubtedly berated them, but Reno couldn’t exactly imagine Tseng hitting the bars. He was still convinced Tseng was a sexless robot, even if Tseng himself had suggested otherwise.

Rude was always fun, but he was especially fun after a few drinks, so Reno ordered them two rounds of shots and drinks to follow and they sat for a while at the bar commiserating over the last few grueling months of work while Reno scanned the room for anyone he might be interested in going home with.

Admittedly, he would rather go home with Rude. He tried not to dwell too much on his crush, convinced himself it was just physical, but the more time that passed the more he realized it simply wasn’t true. If it were just physical, it would be like his little crush on Tseng, who was so attractive it distracted Reno during meetings - a waste of good looks if you asked him, but no one did. With Tseng though, that’s all it was. He was good looking and Reno would have taken the opportunity if it arose - it never would, Tseng was too professional even if there weren’t rules about fraternization - but Reno also wasn’t losing sleep over it.

The same could not be said about Rude. Reno _liked_ spending time with Rude. He liked being around him. He _missed_ him when they were apart. So much time working together had just left Reno…he hesitated to use the word lovesick, but that was sure as hell what it felt like. In fact, the longer Reno dwelled on it the more he realized Rude was the first _true_ friend he had ever had in his life. He trusted Rude with his life which was more than he could say of almost anyone else he had ever known. The kids he ran with in the Wall Market had been fair-weather friends at best and the rest of the relationships in his life had mostly been people taking pity on him. Rude never looked at him with pity in his eyes, always put him in his place when he needed it, and was there for him after a particular rough day.

But Reno didn’t do love and he didn’t do stupid childish crushes. He needed to get the fuck over it, because it was _never_ going to happen.

There were plenty of good-looking people in that bar and a Turk uniform, while intimidating to some, could be sexy and intriguing to most upper-crusters. Though usually Rude got more looks than Reno. And why wouldn’t he? He was damn good looking.

“See anyone good?” Rude asked, sipping his beer and looking around.

Rude almost never went home with anyone after a night out. Romance was one thing he and Reno rarely discussed together. On the few occasions they had broached the subject, Rude had made it fairly clear he was a ‘feelings’ kind of guy. Once during academy he had drunkenly told Reno he didn’t like having sex with people he didn’t know because ‘caring about someone just makes it so much better’. Reno wouldn’t really know.

“You know me,” Reno shrugged, “not too picky.”

Rude glanced sideways at him from behind his sunglasses. “You know, you could be.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means you’re good looking,” said Rude, smacking his arm lightly. “If you just kept your big mouth shut you could probably get anybody you liked in this room.”

Reno laughed. “Those shots are already hitting you, huh partner?”

Rude rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you forever. Why do you always wear those sunglasses even inside?” Reno had been curious about it from day one but it was one subject he managed to keep his mouth shut about. He figured it would come up eventually, but it never had. Rude had a seemingly endless supply of the things though - anytime the glasses were broken during combat he always had a backup pair or two in his breast pocket.

Rude laughed so loudly it startled Reno. “Can’t believe it took you this long to ask. Usually you never mind sticking your nose in someone else’s business.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Reno said without conviction. He had always been a gossip, a byproduct of his youth spent eavesdropping in the Wall Market.

“I get real sensitive to the light,” Rude answered him. “Gives me migraines. So I just keep the sunglasses on and I’m fine.”

“Man, I didn’t realize that. I’m always shining my flashlight in your face as a joke on patrols!” Reno sat up in his chair and frowned deeply at Rude.

“Well, you didn’t know.”

“You coulda said something!” Reno growled, smacking his shoulder.

“Alright, alright! You know now. So stop doing it.”

Reno sighed and sipped his drink moodily. He felt really bad about it now, not that he possibly could have known. Still, Rude should have said something.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, though silence with Rude was never uncomfortable. Reno had his eyes on a guy across the room who reminded him too much of Rude. That was a line he hadn’t crossed yet, trying to sleep with someone who looked like Rude as some sort of substitute for the real thing. He knew if he made that move it would just put him in murkier water.

“Um…hey.”

Reno had been so busy watching the guy across the room that he didn’t notice the woman approaching Rude until she was at his side. She was cute, her cheeks flushing as she tucked some hair behind her ears and looked bashfully at Rude. Reno watched the scene unfold with a green heat rising in his chest.

“Hi,” said Rude, his cheeks flushing as well, though Reno wasn’t positive if it was from the attention or the alcohol.

“I don’t, uh, usually do this, but I was with my friends over there and I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” the woman said. “And I was wondering if, um…I could get your number?”

Reno bristled. Rude seemed surprised - for all his talk about Reno not realizing he could ‘have his pick’, Rude didn’t necessarily realize how attractive he was.

With a dopey grin, Rude sat up straight. “How about we start with names? I’m Rude.”

“Rude? What an interesting name! I’m Chelsea.”

They shook hands and Reno cleared his throat loudly, acutely aware he was being obnoxious and invasive, but a hideous jealousy was coiling tightly around his heart and he simply couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, uh, this is Reno. We work together.”

For some reason, this struck a nerve with Reno. Rude couldn’t have introduced him as his friend instead of his coworker?

“Nice to meet you both,” Chelsea nodded demurely.

“Yeah,” Reno waved his hand and suppressed a groan. “Look, I’m gonna go talk up that guy. You two have fun.”

He patted Rude’s shoulder and slunk away before he could allow his feelings to be hurt any further. It was utterly pointless of course. There was no world in which he and Rude could work together, even if Rude ever felt that way about him, so why dwell on it? Why let himself get so wound up over it? This night was supposed to be a fun diversion and now he was so irritated that he felt worse than he had when their shift ended.

It was easy enough to flirt with the man who looked too much like Rude - if he wasn’t good at anything else, Reno was good at flirting. He didn’t allow himself a glance back as he left the bar with the man, because he couldn’t bear to see Rude smiling and laughing with Chelsea. But he thought of Rude that night with his lips around the other man’s cock, thought of Rude when the stranger was pounding him into the mattress, and nearly said Rude’s name as he came.

When it was over he was left with a mixture of anger and sadness. He dressed quickly, returning to his apartment where he collapsed against the bed and mercifully fell asleep before he could dwell any longer in his thoughts.

* * *

Tseng found himself at yet another executive meeting while Rufus Shinra stared daggers at him. Ever since their confrontation in the Turks’ executive office several months prior, the already tangible tension between the two of them had been at a near breaking point. Tseng’s investigation into the mole providing information to Avalanche had been relatively fruitless, and he didn’t _really_ suspect the vice president, but Rufus was so eager to prove the Turks were involved somehow that Tseng couldn’t help but point the finger in retaliation.

For once, the meeting wasn’t regarding Avalanche or the ongoing situation with Rhapsodos, except for the President to inquire about Professor Hollander’s status in the detention center in Junon. For the past several months, Emma had been in charge of interrogating the professor about the clone technology being used to aid Rhapsodos, as well as determining Rhapsodos’ whereabouts. Her efforts had thus far been as fruitless as Tseng’s investigation and Veld reported as much.

“What do we pay the Turks for, exactly?” Rufus drawled. “They don’t seem to be getting much of anything done.”

“Hm,” the President grunted in agreement. “I want some information by the next meeting, Veld.”

Of course, blood couldn’t be drawn from a stone, but the President and his spoiled brat of a son expected it nonetheless.

“Certainly, sir,” Veld answered obediently.

“What updates do you have for us, Director Deusericus?” The President moved on without another glance at Veld.

“The new SOLDIER candidates have begun their training and we have a handful of seconds who may qualify for a promotion to first given the proper guidance,” Lazard explained. Listening to him talk calmed Tseng’s nerves. He hadn’t seen much of Lazard lately, except at these meetings, and he missed their run-ins, even if he knew his foolish little crush would never go anywhere.

Even with the explicit knowledge of the truth, even with their striking resemblance, it was hard for Tseng to believe someone as thoughtful and kind as Lazard could be related to Rufus Shinra. His mindset wasn’t helping his investigation - Lazard was still high on their list of suspects, though Tseng hadn’t uncovered any information to implicate him beyond his ties to the slums.

“Zack Fair remains under supervision on extended leave in Costa del Sol. Sephiroth is set to accompany a group of engineers working on the construction of a new reactor west of Costa.”

“Good,” said the President, puffing on his cigar and blowing his smoke directly into Rufus’ face. Tseng had to stifle a laugh at the look of disgust on Rufus’ face. “With the war won, you should have plenty of time to divert your focus into training up as many firsts as you can muster. We need people with Sephiroth’s skill. Anti-Shinra sentiment is higher than ever now that Wutai has been defeated. Since the Turks aren’t handling this Avalanche situation as I hoped they would,” the President said this with a pointed look at Veld, “we need your manpower to quash their efforts. I’ve had enough of these disgusting insects.”

“Of course, sir,” Lazard said, bowing his head.

When the meeting was over, Rufus was the first to his feet, “Veld, may I borrow Tseng for a moment?”

Veld exchanged a look with Tseng before nodding. “If his services are needed, sir.”

Tseng fixed Rufus with a frown and stood by the edge of the table awaiting whatever stupid order he had decided to dole out. The others filed out of the room, including Veld, and then Tseng found himself alone with Rufus Shinra. This time, however, there were cameras pointing at the conference table from two directions, which Tseng knew - and he suspected Rufus had considered - meant he couldn’t put Rufus in his place as he had down in the Turks’ headquarters.

“How’s your little assignment going, Tseng?” Rufus asked with the same note of condescension he always addressed the Turks with.

“As I said in the meeting, _sir_ , I have yet to turn up any promising leads.”

Rufus crossed the room slowly, holding Tseng’s gaze with a familiar intensity - he often looked at Tseng like that during meetings, like he wanted to eat Tseng alive and spit his bones back out. Working as a Turk often entailed Tseng putting his life on the line, but he had never encountered an opponent that unnerved him quite like Rufus Shinra did.

“No leads after months and months of investigation. You don’t seem particularly adept at your job. And yet Veld wants you to take over for him when he’s gone,” Rufus laughed. “Might not be long at this rate.”

Tseng bristled at the implication. “And what has your own investigation turned up, sir?”

Rufus moved until he was directly in front of Tseng, far too close for Tseng’s comfort. “I don’t like your tone, _Turk_.”

“My apologies, sir,” Tseng said, his jaw clenched tightly.

“I know that Lazard is one of your top suspects. So why is it that he hasn’t yet been interrogated?”

“We have insufficient evidence to suggest that an interrogation would yield any answers,” Tseng answered curtly.

“Hm,” Rufus gripped Tseng’s chin suddenly, his nails digging sharply into the skin until it was all Tseng could do not to wince at the pain. He held Rufus’ gaze, his eyes bright and intense and full of fury, “I’ve seen the way you look at the _director_ during meetings. If I find out you’re protecting him from further scrutiny, there _will_ be hell to pay.”

Tseng prided himself on controlling his emotions - that sort of stoicism, a division of personalities, was how he had survived as a Turk thus far. That Rufus had seen through him so easily, had noticed his longing gaze during meetings unnerved him for a whole host of reasons.

“If we uncover reasonable evidence to implicate the director, I won’t hesitate to bring him in,” Tseng answered, grimacing despite himself as Rufus dug his nails harder into his skin.

“Your loyalty isn’t admirable,” said Rufus with a sneer, releasing Tseng and taking a step back. “It’s disgusting.”

“And yet you benefit from it,” Tseng said, rubbing his raw skin.

“Do I? Show me where I benefit from anything the Turks have done. You follow me around like dogs, you fail to turn up anything useful regarding this entire situation. The only thing you’ve done to help Shinra recently is bring that worm Hollander in and even that was my father’s concern, not mine. I don’t benefit from your existence in the slightest, _Tseng_.” As he spoke, he stomped forward with such ferocity that Tseng took a step back in surprise until Rufus had backed him into the wall. “When you fail, which you will, I’ll gladly lead the mob demanding your removal. And if you don’t fail…” He looked Tseng up and down, his lip curling in disgust, “Then I’ll be all too happy to clean house when my father’s gone.”

He left with an aggravated huff.

With everything else going on: Rhapsodos, Avalanche, growing insurgency at home and abroad, Rufus Shinra was still without question the greatest and most immediate threat currently facing the Turks.

And only Tseng truly realized it.

* * *

Reno and Rude were out on patrols with the rookies yet again, which lately mostly entailed Reno and Rude going for a long walk, grabbing some coffee, and waiting for the rookies to ring in with the all clear. They were fast approaching their exams and subsequently growing more and more independent. As irritating as Reno had found both Shotgun and Two-Guns at the start, they had both grown on him considerably, though he would never admit it aloud. He secretly hoped they both passed their exams and as such had been harder and harder on them lately to beat every lesson into their brains.

He also knew it was petty, but he refused to ask Rude how his evening with Chelsea went. In fact, he knew he was being standoffish, bristling at Rude’s questions, but he couldn’t help the jealousy now seated firmly in his chest every time he thought about it. There was no point in taking his anger out on Rude - it wasn’t Rude’s fault Reno had developed this terrible, idiotic infatuation with him and it wasn’t Rude’s fault that there was nothing Reno could do to act on it, but he also never claimed to be reasonable when it came to his emotions.

Reno sat on a park bench in Sector Three puffing on a cigarette while Rude stood in front of him sipping a coffee. The streets were beginning to fill with people as work let out, bustling to the train station or to dinner, taking little notice of the two Turks in their dark black suits watching them pass. That was one thing Reno liked about the plate, no one even met their gaze up here. Below the plate, grounders knew the power in numbers and would hurl insults at one or two lone Turks. Reno had thrown rocks at Turks as a kid when they wandered through Wall Market, but now that he was one he fucking hated being beneath the plate for just that reason.

“Kinda quiet today,” Rude noted.

“Yeah, well, they’re finally independent,” Reno shrugged, tipping some ashes from his cigarette with a sigh.

Rude frowned at him. “Wasn’t talking about the rookies.”

“Maybe I’m just not feeling very talkative,” Reno bristled.

Rude raised his eyebrows and said nothing. That was the annoying thing about him: nearly four years working side by side all the time meant Rude could convey an entire conversation to Reno with just a look. Reno took a long drag from his cigarette.

“What?”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Reno grumbled.

“Something’s clearly bothering you. Usually you won’t shut up when you’re annoyed about something, but now you aren’t talking at all. And you left the club in a hurry the other night.”

“Because I wanted to get laid and there was a good looking guy who was interested. Was I supposed to hang around and third wheel with you and that chick?”

Rude sighed and finished his coffee, tossing it in the trash. “I guess not.”

A stony silence followed, the likes of which Reno had never really experienced with Rude. If he wasn’t filling the silence due to his inability to keep quiet for more than five seconds, then it was usually a comfortable sort of quiet that settled between them. This felt tense and uncomfortable and put Reno on edge. It was his fault, of course, but he was too irritated to apologize or set things right, which left Rude as bristly as Reno was.

The rookies showed up a few minutes later to report the all clear: no signs of Avalanche and no signs of rogue SOLDIERS, which was a refreshing change of pace after the last few months of nonstop chaos.

“Guess we can leave then. I’ve got plans at eight, so I’m out of here,” said Rude.

“What plans?” Reno demanded, realizing before he even said it that it wasn’t really his business.

“You don’t feel like talking,” Rude said, “maybe I don’t feel like talking either.”

He had never snubbed Reno like that and while Reno knew he sure as hell deserved it, he didn’t particularly care for it either.

“Yeah, well fine! Like I care!”

But he was already walking away.

Shotgun and Two-Guns exchanged a pointed look with each other. “What’s up with you two? Lovers spat?” Two-Guns laughed.

“Watch your tone, kid.”

Two-Guns groaned. “Whatever, are we dismissed or what?”

A thought struck Reno, a dumber one than he’d had in a long time, but as was often the case the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “No, actually. I want you to tail Rude.”

“Excuse me?” Shotgun raised her eyebrows.

“I think he’s meeting this chick somewhere and I don’t trust her.” This wasn’t a total lie. Forming relationships with civilians as a Turk was always a huge gamble. They had been wearing their suits at the club, so there was no doubting Chelsea knew what they were. It wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that she might be trying to get inside information out of Rude. This was how Reno justified what amounted to asking the rookies to spy on Rude for him because he was so fucking jealous it was consuming him entirely.

“You want us to follow our superior because you have a hunch the girl he’s dating is bad news?” Two-Guns asked, incredulous.

“Shotgun can do it if you don’t want to. Just go and report back what you find out.” When neither of them responded readily enough for Reno’s liking, he barked the order again, “I’m your superior. Do it or get written up!”

“Fine. I’ll go,” Shotgun sighed, taking off in the direction Rude left.

“You’re an idiot,” Two-Guns said.

“Yeah, well,” Reno tapped his shoulder with his mag rod and headed for the train station. “Never said I wasn’t.”

* * *

Tseng sat at his desk poring over files related to the Avalanche investigation while Emma sat at the desk across from him periodically looking at him and frowning. He knew she didn’t care for him, though he had never been anything but cordial with her. It wasn’t through any fault of his. She had anticipated being trained to be Veld’s successor because she was senior to Tseng and when Veld chose Tseng, it immediately made him her enemy.

“Can I help you with something, Emma?” Tseng asked.

She furrowed her brow at him and looked back at her computer. “No.”

Tseng was about to offer up his opinion that they ought to work together and put aside their differences, but his phone rang, interrupting any potential peace offering, which she undoubtedly would have refused anyway.

“This is Tseng.” This earned him an irritated scowl from Emma, so he got up and took the call outside the office.

“Tseng, it’s Zack.”

“Zack,” Tseng sighed. “How is your extended leave treating you?”

“Come on, don’t pretend it’s anything other than what it is.” He sounded crestfallen, not his usual plucky upbeat self. Tseng felt sorry for him. “How’s your arm and leg?”

“All better. Did you call me just to chat, because-”

“I was calling to see if maybe you could pass some messages along to Aerith for me. I know you keep an eye on her for some reason and they won’t let me access e-mail or anything here. I only just convinced Cissnei to let me call you.”

“I’m not operating a messenger service,” Tseng said. But he was due for his monthly check-in on Aerith and he had an increasingly difficult time begrudging Zack a few concessions. He was difficult to dislike, and that annoyed Tseng immensely. “But fine.” For reasons he couldn’t quite justify, he added, “And tell Cissnei you’re allowed to call me even if you can’t make other calls.”

“Really? Ah, man you’re the best, Tseng!”

“ _Don’t_ abuse it or I won’t answer your calls.”

“Promise!”

“Now what did you want me to tell Aerith?”

“Can you just let her know where I am and that I miss her and I’m thinking about her? I’ll come visit her as soon as I’m out of here…if they ever let me out.”

“They will eventually,” Tseng told him. And he was sure they would as soon as he was needed to help with the ongoing SOLDIER situation. “I’ll tell Aerith what you said.”

“You swear?”

Tseng chuckled. Their puppy love was endearing, even if Tseng knew it could only end in sadness. “I swear.”

* * *

“So?” Reno prodded, leaning over the break room table and brandishing his fry at Shotgun, “What did you find out?” He looked around cautiously, “And make it quick. Rude’ll be in here any minute.”

Shotgun held her hands out, “I have to admit, when you sent me to trail him I thought it was just some weird jealousy thing. He met with this woman for a date at a bar in Sector Four. She seemed to really like him, but I followed her after the date was over and,” Shotgun lowered her voice, “she’s working as a spy for Avalanche.”

Reno let out a low whistle and chewed on his food thoughtfully. “And you’re not just yanking my dick?”

Shotgun grimaced. “No. I’m serious. I ended up down in the fucking sewers covered in shit, but she’s definitely working for them.”

“Ah, man,” Reno sighed. Rude would be devastated, of course, but Reno couldn’t be the one to tell him the truth. For one, Rude was still giving him the cold shoulder - not that he could blame him - and for another, he didn’t think Rude would believe him anyway. If Shotgun could call jealousy for what it was, then someone who knew Reno as well as Rude did would see it right away. He needed to either gather definitive proof, or scare this bitch off and save Rude some serious heartbreak down the line.

If he was being totally honest with himself, he had expected Shotgun to come back empty handed, because deep down he knew it was just blind jealousy that made him order her to trail Rude in the first place. It was bittersweet to learn that Chelsea actually _was_ up to no good, and it made him feel like a shitty friend.

Well, he was a shitty friend, wasn’t he? He should have been happy for Rude, because Chelsea clearly made him happy and instead he was too hung up on the fact that it wasn’t _him_ in her place, that it could never be him. When had he become such a fucking sap anyway?

The conversation with Shotgun was cut short abruptly as Rude walked into the break room. He grabbed his lunch from the fridge and stood at the edge of the table. “Can I sit here or are you going to be an ass all day again?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, man, I was just in a bad mood yesterday,” Reno offered his best attempt at an olive branch.

Rude sat down, his expression softening. “Well, don’t take it out on me.”

“I know, I know. You’re just usually the only one around.” Content that Rude seemed to forgive him, Reno leaned back and did his best to sound casual. “You have a good time last night doing whatever it was you were doing?”

“I was on a date,” said Rude. “And yeah, it was nice.”

“Are you going to see her again?” Shotgun asked. Reno shot her a look and she shrugged.

“Yeah. We’re supposed to meet up tonight in Sector Two. Heard it might snow. Seems like a nice evening for a walk.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Rude,” Shotgun laughed.

Rude’s cheeks flushed, which Reno would have found cute if he wasn’t so hung up on the current predicament. He knew there was only one way to handle the situation. Since he couldn’t tell Rude the truth on _any_ level, he had to corner Chelsea and confront her with his newfound knowledge. If he scared her out of town with some good old fashioned Turk intimidation tactics, Rude would just think he’d been stood up. Either way ended in heartbreak and Reno knew it, but at least his way Rude never had to know this woman was only using him. If Reno could spare him that at least, it was worth it.

_And then you can show up and be there to comfort him when he realizes she isn’t coming._

That was a shitty thought. He would be there, because Rude was his friend, but the fact that even a small part of him considered how he could bend the situation to his own advantage made him feel like such a massive piece of shit that he decided he wouldn’t make an appearance that evening at all. He would just ask Rude how things went the next morning and comfort him then.

Reno could be a selfish asshole plenty of times, the product of being raised in an environment where altruism only got you so far, but he liked to think maybe Rude had been a positive influence on him in that respect.

That night, after another round of patrols, Reno took off, wishing Rude luck on his date with a feeling of immense guilt as he hurried to beat him to the meeting place in Sector Two. Luckily for Reno, he was fast, and it didn’t appear Rude was on a direct route there, so he found Chelsea alone on a bench under one of the few blooming trees in the sector.

Still in his uniform, Chelsea recognized him right away, though even if he hadn’t been wearing it, his bright red hair made him difficult for most people to forget (both to his benefit and detriment many times in his life). She looked more than a little surprised to see him.

“Oh…you’re Rude’s friend, right?” she asked. Reno didn’t miss how she clutched her purse against her side and slipped a hand inside.

“Better not try anything,” Reno said, his pistol already in hand, though he was careful not to point it at her.

“Is there…a problem?” She feigned ignorance.

Reno paced in front of her, keeping an eye out for any sign of Rude. “Yeah. The problem is you used my _best friend_ to try and get information about Shinra to help your little fucking terrorist friends and I don’t appreciate it. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t take you back to headquarters and interrogate you? Or better yet, why shouldn’t I just shoot you now and take care of the problem entirely?”

Chelsea stiffened, her face creasing into a surprisingly convincing frown. “I don’t have a reason to offer you. You’re right. I am with Avalanche…and I should have known the Turks would be able to sniff me out easily. Does…does Rude know?”

“No. And I think it’s better for everyone involved if he never finds out.”

Chelsea nodded sadly and looked down at her feet. “For what it’s worth…I told them I wanted out of this assignment. I didn’t expect to have such a nice time with Rude. I just thought…well, you know what the Turks' reputation is.”

Reno cocked his gun. “That’s a nice story, but I’m done talking. I want you to leave. Leave this sector, leave Midgar, and don’t ever contact Rude again. Do we have an understanding?”

“But I-”

“You don’t get to negotiate with the Turks,” said Reno, taking a step closer to her. “Either you leave here on your own or I _make you_ leave. And trust me, you won’t like my methods.”

“Fine,” Chelsea said, rising to her feet. “I’ll leave. And I won’t contact him again. But could you at least tell him I’m sorry, or-”

“I’m granting you this one concession. You get to walk out of here alive. Don’t ask me for more than that.”

She fixed him with a furious stare, but it was clear she knew she had been beat. She took off and Reno waited until she was completely out of sight to place his gun back in its holster, hurrying off in the opposite direction before Rude could show up and catch sight of him.

He wound up back at his apartment and sat for some time chain smoking cigarettes on the stoop outside his building, shivering against the cold as it began to snow. Midgar didn’t often get snow, and having spent his entire life beneath the plate, Reno had never really seen it up close before. He marveled at the tiny flakes as they landed on his skin and melted.

Did it make him a piece of shit for what he’d done tonight? Maybe Chelsea had been telling the truth. Maybe she really was going to give up the mission. If anyone could turn someone like that it was Rude. For his size and formidable strength, Rude was such a softy at heart - always feeding stray animals and giving money to beggars on the street. Reno often jibed that it was ruining their reputation as bad guys, as if he didn’t make frequent trips beneath the plate to make sure none of the Wall Market orphans were going hungry.

After some time, he pulled his phone from his pocket and typed out a message while he puffed on another cigarette.

 **[Reno]:** How’d the date go man? Don’t respond if you’re still on it.

He was an asshole, but he had to pretend he didn’t know the truth.

Rude’s response came so fast it made Reno’s heart ache.

 **[Rude]:** Not great. Got stood up. Just sitting alone at home now.

 **[Reno]:** ~~Want some company?~~

He thought better of it, though he desperately wanted Rude to want him in that moment.

 **[Reno]:** I’m sorry man. That sucks.

When Rude didn’t respond, Reno sent one more message.

 **[Reno]:** Let me know if you need anything partner

Then he stubbed out his cigarette and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big RenoRude chapter was overdue and this part is so insanely gay in BC I don't know how anyone could explain away Reno and Rude as straight. Anyway Reno doesn't know how to deal with his feelings - he might even be worse at it than Tseng. Sorry to report the slow burn will continue on for a while. Thanks as always for reading!


	13. Boiling Point

A headboard thumped loudly against the wall in a dimly lit hotel room overlooking Sector Three of Midgar, its occupants moaning against one another, sweat beading on their skin, their bodies writhing together, lost for a moment in their ecstasy. Rufus Shinra came with a groan, drawing out every last second of pleasure before he fell onto his back gasping for breath, tossing his condom aside in the wastepaper bin and turning languidly to look at his bedmate.

“I do enjoy these meetings, Mr. Shinra,” said Elfe, draping herself along the bed at an angle that highlighted all her sharp features.

Rufus couldn’t really claim to have a usual type, but he didn’t often go for women like Elfe. Still, he had enjoyed these infrequent business transactions - and that was all they really felt like at the end of the day. Once every few months, Elfe would make a trip to Junon or Midgar to meet with him in person, removed from the influence of her fawning henchman Shears and psychotic second-in-command Fuhito. It was these meetings where Rufus felt he got his best handle on Avalanche as a whole. Neither Shears nor Fuhito made their distaste for him secret, though he knew they both hated him for very different reasons. Fuhito was still all too ready to take his money and if given the choice between the two, he’d rather be caught alone with Fuhito than Shears, who had to know or at least suspect that Rufus was fucking Elfe on a semi-regular basis and probably would have killed him if given the chance.

It was a dangerous game Rufus was playing, but so far it was working out in his favor. They still hadn’t managed to take out his father, but for Rufus it was still enough of a point of uncertainty that simply sewing chaos and making the President and his Turks look like incompetent idiots was sufficient.

“You did well with your last attack,” Rufus said, propping himself up on his elbow. “I’m meeting with the President about it tomorrow morning. I presume everything is still in order for the move on Junon?”

“We’ll be there,” Elfe assured him. “Though I can’t help but feel like we aren’t making much personal headway.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Rufus told her.

“Do I strike you as particularly virtuous, Mr. Shinra?”

Gods, he fucking hated being called that, but he tolerated it from her for some reason. Neither of them were naive about their relationship. It was monetary and physical, nothing more, and they both knew there would come a day when they tried to kill each other. Once Avalanche succeeded in what Rufus needed them for, he would sever his funding and deal with all three heads of that particular beast once and for all.

“No, but maybe you ought to try.”

Elfe squeezed his thigh, nails digging in dangerously close to more sensitive skin. “What do we get out of Junon?”

“If you play your cards right, you get most of the Turks and the only two remaining first class SOLDIERS. If you and your men can’t handle them, then-”

“Sephiroth is formidable,” Elfe interrupted, relaxing her grip on his thigh to trace shapes gently against his inner leg. His skin prickled at this and he kept his gaze firmly on her hand while she spoke. “He killed several of our men the last time we encountered him in Junon and if I hadn’t fled he would have killed me.”

“I can’t control him. Lacking the brute force needed to overwhelm a SOLDIER of his ranking, you might try numbers instead.”

“Oh, is he bad at math?” Elfe laughed.

Rufus rolled his eyes. “Take my advice or don’t. I sent you pictures of the Turks I want taken out. Our next conversation won’t be this pleasant if they manage to make it out alive.”

“You may be funding us, Mr. Shinra, but the last time I checked I don’t work for you. We’ll take out the Turks if we can, mostly because it benefits us to have them gone too. They’ve made a mess of our units before. You sure Professor Hojo isn’t injecting them with mako too?”

Rufus bristled. “What do you know about Hojo?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Elfe smirked.

Rufus stared at her prosthetic leg. It wasn’t the first time he wondered if Hojo had something to do with it - in fact the design was remarkably similar to Veld’s prosthetic arm. It did look like Hojo’s handiwork.

“Careful,” said Elfe. “You look like you’re deep in thought and I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hmph,” Rufus huffed. He pushed her hand away from his leg and slid out of the bed, gathering his clothes up off the floor and dressing while she remained draped across the bed without any sense of urgency. “We’ll talk again after Junon. I expect results or your next paycheck might not be so generous.”

“Hm, and what does daddy think of all his money going missing?” Elfe asked.

Rufus didn’t dignify her question with a response. He left the hotel room and made his way back to his apartment in Sector One.

* * *

For the first time in quite a while, the President had called a meeting in which the Turks were entirely excluded, though _Lazard_ was still irritatingly present. Rufus opted to keep his attention on his father and Heidegger.

“What are we going to do about this situation? Veld’s men failed to predict the attack on the cargo ship last week and they continue to fail at every turn to provide any evidence of the obvious mole in this company. How has Avalanche managed to best us every step of the way?” Rufus demanded.

Heidegger’s face was growing redder and redder. Veld technically answered to him and it was clear he was waiting for a chance to defend himself, to remove himself from Veld’s failings in whatever way possible.

“What do you suggest, Rufus?” his father asked.

“Should I tell you how to run your own company?” Rufus folded his arms. “If you can’t figure out the obvious next step.”

His father’s face twisted in irritation. “Make your point or get out of here, boy.”

Was he truly so incompetent? Rufus knew first hand that wasn’t the case, rather he supposed his father might actually be giving him an opening to speak his mind. But his moods were fickle, and he would just as readily expect his father to pull the rug out from under him at any given moment as some sort of teaching lesson.

‘All these years and you’re still just a loser, aren’t you boy?’

When Rufus’ mother was still alive, she would stroke his hair and kiss his forehead and tell him, ‘That’s just how your father shows you he loves you, my little chocobo. He wants you to do well. He wants you to succeed. The world isn’t always nice. He’s just testing you.’

Maybe it was what she told herself too. His father never laid a hand on either of them, but he didn’t have to. He did a good enough job shouting them down and belittling them whenever he had the chance. The worst part was that Rufus knew his mother was right. His father _thought_ it was how you showed love, by forcing his loved ones to ‘do better’. Instead all it had done was drive Rufus’ mother to fling herself off the roof of Shinra Tower. It left Rufus so full of resentment he could hardly stand to look at his father most days.

"Perhaps it's time to remove Veld from his seat of authority if he can't do his job," Rufus answered.

“You’re right,” his father said, a rarity in itself. “Heidegger, you’ll step in as interim chief for the Turks.”

Heidegger cleared his throat. “Certainly, sir.”

“Who’s next in line for that position?”

Heidegger faltered. His oversight of the Administrative Research department had always been lacking. He left Veld to his own devices because - and Rufus would readily admit his enemies’ strengths - the Turks were good at what they did. They didn’t require oversight. It was that annoying diligence that had him covering his trail at every turn to try and pin his crimes on Lazard or anyone else at the company. Because he knew with every run-in with Veld’s most diligent and loyal little dog that if he gave Tseng an inch, he would readily take a mile.

“Tseng,” Rufus answered for Heidegger.

“Which one is he?” The President asked. Rufus glared at him. Was he truly so ignorant of his own men? Tseng had attended nearly every board meeting for the last two years.

“The Wutaian, sir,” Heidegger answered. “Veld’s shadow.”

“Right, right. The Wutaian. Sehng was it?” The President lit a cigar and puffed on it while he looked around the table in thought.

“ _Tseng_ ,” Rufus corrected. Even if there were few people in the company Rufus could stand less than Tseng, his father’s virulent racism still always rubbed him the wrong way. “I would hesitate to allow him to step in as leader in Veld’s wake, given his loyalty to Veld.”

The President nodded and blew smoke in Lazard’s face. Lazard did his best not grimace, listening with rapt attention, but so far totally silent.

“Fine. As I said, Heidegger will oversee the Turks until we can determine if this Sehng is a good candidate to replace Veld. Veld is still useful, and he knows too much for us to send him off. Put him down in security for now.”

“Sir, if I may,” Lazard interjected. “Tseng has worked on many missions with my men. I think he would be a suitable candidate-”

“If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it, Director.”

Lazard bowed his head. “Of course, sir.”

It came as no surprise to Rufus that Lazard was quick to step to Tseng’s defense. Though Tseng was professional to a fault, stringent in following rules in a way that drove Rufus mad, his gaze often lingered on Lazard during meetings. He suspected the two of them were involved somehow and if he ever had the evidence to prove it he would gladly kill two birds with one stone.

“If that’s all, then I’ll leave you to carry this out, Heidegger.”

Heidegger’s brow furrowed, but his nose was too far up the President’s ass to ever say no. “Of course, sir.”

Rufus left the conference room with a spring in his step. With Veld out of power, Heidegger would have to direct the Turks in their response to the impending attack on Junon. Heidegger lacked the subtle hand to appropriately direct the Turks, and Rufus felt confident the group would fall into chaotic disarray without their precious leader.

If everything went according to plan, Rufus would have the Turks’ heads on silver platters and he would be one step closer to pushing his father out of power.

* * *

Tseng shook in silent disbelief as Heidegger addressed the Turks while Veld stood behind him with his head bowed looking like a collared dog. Heidegger may as well have had him in chains as far as Tseng was concerned, and for the first time in the ten years since he first donned his uniform, Tseng truly understood the bite of the term ‘lapdog’.

“I don’t understand,” said Shotgun, who now went by her new alias of Freyra after passing her exam three months earlier.

Of the latest class, two others had passed: Two-Guns, now Ruluf; and one of the martial artists, now Maur.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Heidegger grunted. “Veld’s leadership has failed to net Shinra any substantive results in the fight against Avalanche and the SOLDIER crisis. I’m in charge now and Veld will be working in security under my supervision. Anyone who objects,” he cast a pointed look at Freyra, “can leave Shinra in the requisite way all Turks do.”

It was sickening how those in power threw around such a weighted threat, holding it over the Turks’ heads to bend them to Shinra’s bidding. Tseng was on Freyra’s side and, judging by the looks the rest of his colleagues were wearing, he wasn’t the only one.

‘ _A Turk’s most important defining feature is our loyalty. Not to Shinra, but to one another_.’

That wisdom taught to him by Veld stuck in Tseng’s mind in that moment.

They weren’t given time or space to voice a protest however - and they would have, Reno was already opening his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly earn him a few weeks in an isolation cell in a best case scenario when Heidegger’s phone rang, cutting the meeting short.

“Sir,” Tseng spoke quietly to Veld while Heidegger took the call. “This isn’t right.”

“Stay loyal to your team, Tseng. I can handle myself. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I do trust you, but I don’t trust…” He didn’t trust Heidegger or Rufus Shinra and he had a sinking suspicion both of them had been involved in the decision making process. Tseng would be next on the chopping block if that were the case - Rufus was not quiet about his distaste for him and Tseng’s failure to turn up anything substantive about the information leak within Shinra after two years of dead ends had not gone unnoticed. “This decision isn’t based on anything valid. We can’t stay ahead of Avalanche because someone in this company is always one step ahead of us. Someone who…”

It hit him like a freight train. Someone in the company was deliberately feeding information to Avalanche that, above everything else, made the Turks and the President’s decision to utilize their skills look useless and wasteful. Who else in the company had been so open about their distaste for the Turks?

‘ _When I’m President, I’ll be happy to relieve you of your duties._ ’

Wouldn’t it be rich if the mole was the one person who had been trumpeting the importance of rooting out the mole this entire time?

“Tseng,” Veld interrupted his thoughts. “Keep your nose to the grindstone. Focus on the team. They will very likely put you in charge next, which means the target will be on your back now.”

Tseng nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Heidegger hung up the phone and turned back to the group. “We have a situation in Junon. You,” he pointed at Tseng, “Sehng, isn’t it?” Tseng had learned the futility of correcting upper management on his name years earlier, but Reno chimed in from the back of the group,

“It’s Tseng,” followed by a barely audibly, “You shithead.”

Heidegger thankfully didn’t hear the last part. “The President wants you and Sephiroth to pick up the other first and head off the problem in Junon. You’re the one who’s been dealing with the Rhapsodos situation, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for Tseng to answer. “Sephiroth will meet you on the helipad. The rest of you are to report to Junon as soon as possible. We need men on the ground. We’ll be sending some third class SOLDIERS to accompany you.”

“All of us?” Ruluf scoffed. “Isn’t that a security risk?”

“These orders come directly from the President and Vice President. Would you like to question them to their face or would you like to do your fucking job?” Heidegger demanded, his face going a brilliant shade of red.

Ruluf and Freyra exchanged a glance and there was another attempt at a hurled insult from Reno stifled by Rude’s hand clamping around his mouth.

Tseng didn’t wait to be given orders a second time, but he did send an e-mail to the group as he took the elevator up to the helipad.

“We can no longer rely on management to guide us in this situation. Stick with each other in Junon. Never let yourselves get cornered alone. And trust that Veld will find a way to rectify this situation.”

He hit ‘send’ as he stepped off the elevator, a pit settling in his stomach. Leadership had always been something he approached with reluctance. Veld believed in his potential of course, but he was less certain of himself than Veld seemed to be. It was so much easier to follow orders and get the job done. Sending that simple message to the other Turks was hardly all it took to lead, but it was the first time he’d felt compelled to step into that role and do something, _anything_.

Sephiroth awaited him on the helipad, cape billowing in the wind. Tseng had rarely spoke directly to Sephiroth and still found him intimidating despite once observing his tear-stained eyes as he left a meeting with Lazard. He looked more formidable than Tseng remembered him, standing several inches taller than Tseng, long silver hair cascading down his back, scanning the city with an unfocused gaze.

The situation with Rhapsodos was personal for Sephiroth and for that reason he had largely distanced himself from any involvement. Tseng couldn’t blame him for not wanting to kill one of the only friends he ever knew. After all, if one of the other Turks went rogue, could Tseng really pull the trigger if it came to that? Even if it generated a crisis of this proportion?

“Tseng,” Sephiroth greeted him. For some reason, Tseng was surprised he remembered his name.

“Sephiroth.” Tseng bowed his head.

“I understand we’re meant to extract Zack from Costa del Sol and attend to the situation in Junon.”

“That’s correct.”

Sephiroth stepped into the waiting helicopter. “If Genesis is truly in Junon, not one of these clones of his…I’d like to be the one to deal with it.”

As if Tseng was capable of facing off against a former first class SOLDIER? He’d already had one unsuccessful run in with Rhapsodos a few years prior. He wasn’t eager for a repeat.

“My job once we land in Junon will be to limit the extent of exposure to the city at large and neutralize any witnesses,” Tseng said in answer, taking a seat across from Sephiroth in the helicopter.

“’Neutralize’.” Sephiroth laughed humorlessly, “We’re just machines to them, aren’t we?”

For a fleeting moment, there was a look of profound sadness on his face, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced with a carefully neutral expression as he looked out the window.

The trip to Costa del Sol took longer than Tseng remembered and when they landed, he left Sephiroth to meet with Zack and Cissnei while he made a detour. Several years earlier, Veld had taught him the importance of thinking outside of the box if it could benefit the mission and he had taken that lesson to heart plenty of times, deviating from strict orders when he knew Shinra assets were at stake. This particular deviation felt more like a strike against Shinra than for it, but at the end of the day his loyalty was to the Turks and they needed all the help they could get.

He knocked on the door of a beach-side bungalow and it took several seconds before the door opened and a familiar face appeared in the doorway. Legend peered at him from behind sunglasses, a broad grin creeping across his face. His skin was a shade darker from years spent ‘under house arrest’ likely lounging in the sand and cavorting with the locals. At any rate, he hardly looked as if house arrest was treating him badly.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here, man?”

“Legend,” Tseng said. “I don’t have time for pleasantries.”

“As if you ever do?” Legend laughed.

Tseng explained the situation with Veld as quickly as he could and Legend, to his credit, listened with rapt attention until Tseng was done. Two years earlier, Veld had attempted to ‘extract’ Legend from house arrest only to be met with resistance. Given Legend’s skill-set and knowledge, Veld opted to allow him to carry on with his house arrest rather than the alternative of forced retirement. It continued to feed Tseng’s belief that the chief was far too lenient with Legend.

When Tseng was done explaining, however, he was surprised at the serious expression on Legend’s face.

“Man, if the chief is down and out, you guys must really be in danger. I’m a little rusty, but yeah, why the hell not? I can still fit in the old suit. Let me grab it and I’ll meet you at the airport.”

“You have to be quick,” Tseng warned him, relieved Legend had agreed to join them, “We’re leaving as soon as we have the SOLDIER.”

“You got it, chief.”

“I’m _not_ the chief,” Tseng growled.

Legend waved a dismissive hand and shut the door in his face.

Back at the airport, Sephiroth arrived with Zack and Cissnei in tow and Tseng found himself squeezed into a bone-crushing hug as Zack rocketed into him.

“Tseng! Man, it’s been too long. I missed you! Thanks for uh, for passing the messages along and all that. I really appreciate it. And I know uh…our mutual friend appreciated it as well,” Zack released him and Tseng struggled to catch his breath.

“We can discuss all of that when you’re back in Midgar,” Tseng said. But he allowed himself a smile. “I’m pleased to be working alongside you once again, Zack.”

“Wow,” Cissnei whistled. “That’s pretty high praise coming from Chuckles.”

Tseng fixed her with a stern frown. “Reno is a terrible influence on you.”

Cissnei laughed as she climbed into the helicopter. Sephiroth and Zack followed suit, Zack sticking his head out of the open door and yelling,

“Hurry up, Tseng, we need to get going!”

Tseng hovered by the door, his stomach tense until he saw a shock of orange hair alerting him to Legend’s arrival. Once they were all safely aboard, the helicopter made its way to Junon for Shinra’s loyal lapdogs to deal with the emerging threat.

* * *

Rude and Reno arrived with the rest of the Turks to find Junon in a state of complete and total chaos. What they anticipated when they hit the ground were Genesis clones overtaking the upper city: that much they had been warned about by both Heidegger and Tseng. What they _didn’t_ prepare for were dozens, if not hundreds, of Avalanche troops descending upon the city as well. That, apparently, had transpired in the hour between leaving Midgar and landing in Junon.

Reno pulled his EMR from the holster at his hip and extended it. “Well this is a fucking shitshow.”

Rude nodded. “Seems like it.”

“You ready for this, partner?”

“Ready as I’m going to be.”

In truth, high stakes scenarios like this were where Rude and Reno both thrived. They always managed to work cohesively, even if they did often butt heads outside of the battlefield, but on missions where every move mattered they could really prove their mettle. Thus far, Reno had never let Rude down.

One advantage the Turks ran into immediately was that Avalanche and Rhapsodos’ sick little army of clones were clearly _not_ being funded or fed information by the same party and subsequently Avalanche troops became cannon fodder for the much stronger Rhapsodos clones. This in turn reduced the number of immediate threats as Rude and Reno wound their way through the city. It was still tough going, and when they called into base where, typically Veld would provide direction, Heidegger failed to pick up the call.

“Anyone else getting through to Heidegger?” Rude asked.

“Nothing. Ruluf and I are corralling people indoors to limit witnesses,” Maur was the first to answer. “Tseng is en route with the SOLDIERS. All we were told was to avoid engaging Rhapsodos if possible.”

Reno sighed, “At least we can blame all of this on Avalanche. Fewer witnesses to cull with the SOLDIER crap. I hate that part of the job.”

Rude did too. Those who couldn’t be blackmailed into silence lost their lives: innocent people dying because Shinra couldn’t contain their terrible secrets.

But that _was_ the job, after all.

It took twenty minutes for Heidegger to finally acknowledge their existence on the ground, and even then he failed to say anything about their request for direction, instead breaking over the line to say,

“There’s an urgent situation at Junon base. I need as many Turks to the tower as possible.”

“What sort of situation, sir?” Rude asked.

“Just do what I ask! It’s not your job to ask questions.”

“It is though,” Reno muttered, but it was obvious Heidegger was in a foul mood, ill suited to directing agents of espionage when his primary task as a tactician was to lead military troops. The two groups were fundamentally different in their approaches and rather than provide any sort of guidance, he wanted the Turks to fall in line and follow orders like they were SOLDIERS. That _wasn’t_ how Veld ran things.

“This fucking sucks, man,” Reno said as they wound their way through side streets to make their way to Junon’s Shinra Tower overlooking the bay. “The chief would know exactly what to do and warn us what we were walking into.”

Rude silently agreed. But they all knew if they didn’t do as Heidegger asked, any of them might be next to fall under the President and Vice President’s ire. How were they meant to succeed when someone in the company was clearly trying to undermine them at every step? Rude clenched his jaw, his body brimming for a fight.

At Shinra Tower, they found the place overrun with Rhapsodos clones, but whatever was within didn’t seem to be of interest to Avalanche, which left the Turks to contend with several dozen copies of a first class SOLDIER. Admittedly, the clones were weaker, and moved as if in a trance, incapable of speaking, and degrading into a bloody pulp within minutes of dying.

“This is Balto reporting from inside Shinra Tower,” their colleague’s voice sounded in their ears. “The clones have Dr. Hollander.”

“So that’s what this is about,” Reno spat, swinging his EMR into the gut of one of the clones just outside the entrance to the tower. “Fucking SOLDIERS. Why are we always cleaning up their Gods damned messes?”

Rude grunted and ducked as a clone swung his sword at him. “Good question. Guess cleaning up messes is our job.”

“Yeah well, maybe Sephiroth could handle this fucking mess for once.”

Rude landed a swift series of blows against the Rhapsodos clone’s head and he crumpled to the ground. When he whirled around to assist Reno, he found Sephiroth looming between them.

“Is it my mess?” He asked, so eerily soft spoken that it gave Rude the chills.

Reno turned around and stumbled backward, nearly careening over the barrier wall in his haste to put space between himself and the notorious first class SOLDIER. Sephiroth looked between them with a neutral expression.

“Hollander is inside?”

Rude was vaguely aware of his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. “Balto, is Hollander still inside?”

“Negative. One of the clones escaped with him out the side exit toward the airport. I’m wounded and need backup.”

“They’re headed toward the airport,” Rude relayed to Sephiroth. “One of our men is stuck inside in need of backup-”

Sephiroth waved a hand and pivoted on his heels. “Help your friend. I’ll try to help mine.”

Once he was gone, Reno straightened himself up and shivered. “Guy gives me the creeps.”

Rude said nothing, but he was inclined to agree.

* * *

After parting ways with Sephiroth and Zack; Tseng, Cissnei, and Legend headed into the city to deal with the Avalanche troops descending on the city. The Rhapsodos clones appeared to be withdrawing, disengaging from battle and moving toward the airport, but the Turks had been given strict instructions to deal with Avalanche while the SOLDIERS dealt with their own.

Legend left them to find a higher vantage point from which to launch several high-grade explosives he carried with him in a box.

“Good way to get the old blood pumping, getting thrown back into the fray like this. Good luck. Try not to die,” he smacked Tseng on the back as he left.

“You two close?” Cissnei asked as they moved down an empty back alley to the other side of the upper city.

“We trained in academy together. I wouldn’t say we were close.”

“Zack speaks really highly of you,” she said. “Sometimes he wouldn’t shut up about it actually. He’s always going on about how nice you are and how much you help him out.”

Tseng’s ears warmed. “I’ll have to have a word.”

“Right,” Cissnei laughed. “You’ve got a reputation to keep.”

Tseng smiled in return.

They reached the end of the alley and ducked down behind a dumpster as a group of Avalanche members ran past, firing off shots against an unseen assailant. The screams that followed suggested their targets had been citizens rather than any member of Shinra. Why hadn’t Heidegger provided better backup? They had maybe a dozen SOLDIERS on the ground with them, hardly enough to contend with all of the Avalanche troops swarming the city. Of course, Heidegger hadn’t expected Avalanche. No one had.

Except perhaps Rufus Shinra.

“I’m going to call into Heidegger and ask what our plan of action is,” Tseng said. He waited a beat and spoke into his comm. “Sir, we’re vastly outnumbered here. What would you like us to do?”

More than five minutes passed before a response came.

“Do your damned jobs. Is Veld constantly coddling you?”

Tseng balked, exchanging an incredulous look with Cissnei. “No, sir, but in large operations like this we usually formulate a cohesive attack plan before storming in. If we try to attack without one, we’ll undoubtedly be struck down.”

No answer came to this. They were on their own.

“This is bullshit,” Cissnei hissed. Reno’s influence, undoutedly. Though she was no longer technically a child, she still seemed like one to Tseng. “We need to come up with a plan on our own.”

“That will be difficult without a blueprint on hand.”

“Tseng, can you hear me?” Tseng was surprised when Veld’s voice sounded over the comms. Cissnei must have heard it too because her eyes lit up.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m on the secondary channel. Heidegger won’t be able to hear us here. I have a view of the security feeds from Junon. You need to focus the bulk of your force outside the Shinra estate. Avalanche is planting explosives inside and most of their troops are standing guard there.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Tseng answered diligently.

“One of their leaders is inside. A man we previously picked up on our feeds during the attack on Midgar.”

“The one Reno fought, sir?” Tseng asked.

“I believe so. Tread carefully. These are formidable opponents.”

“Did everyone hear the chief?” Tseng asked. His colleagues answered in a chorus. “Then we make for the Shinra estate.”

Tseng had to hand it to Rufus Shinra, even if he hated him more than possibly anyone else on the planet in that moment. How better to throw the Turks off his trail than having Avalanche plant explosives in his own home? It would be a huge monetary loss to Shinra, but not insurmountable, enough to send the President into a rage and allow Rufus to put on a show of being angry all the while secretly funneling information - and very likely money - to the group he denounced at every board meeting.

He didn’t have the evidence yet, but Tseng was bound and determined to prove he was right about this.

First, though, they had to deal with the present situation.

They found their colleagues and half a dozen SOLDIERS engaged in combat with the Avalanche troops outside of the estate, which opened a path for Tseng and Cissnei into the building. In the lobby, there were more Avalanche troops waiting, and Tseng and Cissnei worked in unison to handle them. Back to back, Tseng ducked, Cissnei flung her shuriken, Tseng leaped and landed a swift kick to the chest of one man while Cissnei’s shuriken embedded itself in another’s neck. Any Turk, given the right opportunity, could work as fluidly and efficiently alongside another Turk, but Tseng had never actually seen Cissnei in action and he left the encounter suitably impressed by her skill.

Whether attributable to whatever Professor Hollander had imbued her with, or merely the result of being raised with that sole purpose, Cissnei clearly deserved her place in the Turks.

At Veld’s direction, they rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor where they found two men in Avalanche uniforms guarding a man laying charges along the wall.

“Sir!” One of the men yelled.

The man laying charges stood up and turned to face them. He wore an outfit of the same color as the Avalanche uniforms, but decidedly less utilitarian, a green bandana wrapped around his head. His body was all lean muscle, not unlike Tseng’s, and his scuffed leather gloves indicated he fought with a similar style.

“You miserable sacks of shit turn up everywhere trying to ruin our plans,” he spat. “Finish laying the charges. I’ll take care of them myself.” He flexed his fingers and took a defensive stance as he approached Tseng and Cissnei.

Tseng moved to the left and Cissnei to the right, hoping to overwhelm him, but he ducked, gripped Cissnei’s shuriken tightly in his hands and lifted her off the ground, tossing her aside like she weighed nothing. She screamed as her body slammed against the wall and she slumped to the floor unconscious.

“Just you and me now, lapdog,” the man said, dropping the shuriken.

Tseng held his gaze, assuming his own defensive stance as they moved in a tight circle while facing each other. “I like to know my enemy when he’s this formidable,” Tseng lied. “My name is Tseng. Do you have a name, or should I just call you terrorist?”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he answered. “I’m Shears. Not that it will matter in a few minutes.”

He ran at Tseng and delivered a series of blows against Tseng’s raised arms. Tseng rolled left, but Shears was alarmingly fast. He must have had haste materia embedded somewhere on him. Tseng barely had time to recover before Shears was on him again and it was all Tseng could do to hold his defensive posture and avoid any blows to his chest or face.

Moving as swiftly as he could, Tseng managed a blow to Shears’ shin which caused him to stumble backward and then Tseng was on him, slamming his fists against Shears’ face striking a blow with an open palm against the center of his chest and knocking the wind out of him. He almost fell onto his back, righting himself at the last minute and gasping for breath. Tseng went in for another blow and yelped in surprise as Shears caught his arm and wrenched it behind his back, shoving him to the floor and climbing on top of him.

Both of them were covered in a thin sheen of sweat now, strands of hair flying from Tseng’s ponytail, his face smashed against the floor as Shears grabbed him in a chokehold and dug his knee into his back.

“No hard feelings, Turk,” Shears grunted, struggling to maintain his hold as Tseng fought tooth and nail to free himself from it.

Tseng’s airflow was being cut off, his body weakening with each passing moment. He struggled to remain conscious, fingers digging against Shears’ arm, his vision going black around the edges.

Suddenly the grip on his throat relaxed as Shears was wrenched away. Tseng gulped in as much air as he could and rolled onto his back to find Cissnei brandishing her shuriken at their assailant, blood trickling from a wound at her hairline. She wasn’t holding herself steady with any conviction, quite likely concussed, but she wasn’t going down without a fight either.

Hand to hand combat was not an effective strategy against a man like Shears. Tseng ripped his gun from its holster at his side and fired off a shot that landed in Shears’ shin. He stumbled backward and the two men laying charges stood up.

“Sir!”

Tseng fired another shot that missed as Shears ran for the elevator, hobbling on his injured leg. Tseng struggled to his feet, and when he couldn’t get a good aim on Shears, he fired instead on his men as they attempted to retreat with him, shooting one between the eyes and hitting the other in the lower back. They crumpled a few feet from the elevator and Shears left them, jamming his finger against the door-close button as Tseng ran with what little strength he had remaining to try and stop him.

The doors slid shut right as Tseng reached them and it was over.

The Avalanche troop that was still alive groaned on the floor, attempting to crawl away. Tseng knelt down and pressed his pistol against the man’s temple, ending his suffering even if he felt he didn’t quite deserve that pity.

“Are you all right?” he asked Cissnei.

She sat against a pillar pressing a hand to her wound while she activated her restore materia. “I’ll live. We make a pretty good team, huh?”

“We’re alive anyway,” Tseng answered. “APB on Avalanche leader Shears. He’s heading for the exit.”

Legend was the first to reply. “I’ve got a few pretty bombs waiting for him if he gets in my path.”

Tseng knelt down on the floor next to Cissnei. His neck was bruised and raw, his body aching from the blows he received. They had managed to avert a bigger crisis, but Tseng worried one or more of their own might be dead or seriously injured after everything they had encountered that day. And while Avalanche was ultimately to blame for their vendetta against Shinra, there was a bigger problem now looming over them.

Rufus Shinra was the mole. And he wanted the Turks dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy with this chapter and the ground it covers. There's so many threads to keep track of in a fic of this scope, but it's nice to start pulling at some of them and bringing things together. I know Crisis Core essentially retcons much of Before Crisis but I thought it would fit nicely together to have the Genesis siege on Junon overlap with AVALANCHE'S since it fits within the timeline (more or less). Things are gonna heat up a bit now that Tseng knows who the mole is :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	14. Deception

“What happened in Junon was an unmitigated disaster.” The President stood before the entire board of executives puffing on a cigar and occasionally blowing it in Rufus or Heidegger’s face depending on the direction he was turned.

The board sat, silent and submissive, while Rufus’ father berated them for their failings.

“I am particularly disappointed,” he continued, “in _you_ , Heidegger.”

The siege on Junon had not gone at all how Rufus hoped it would thanks to the interference of the rogue first-class SOLDIER and his cronies, but all that might have been forgiven if Avalanche had managed to do what he asked and capture the Turks in the blast meant to take down the Shinra Estate in Junon. Instead, the Turks managed to fight them off and Tseng - well battered and bruised from the encounter - was staring a hole through Rufus from the other end of the table. Beside him, Veld sat restored to power through questionable methods - Rufus wasn’t privy to whatever conversation he and the President had that led to his reinstatement.

Tseng’s singular focus on Rufus during the meeting was concerning, but there was always the President berating Heidegger to cheer him up.

Heidegger sputtered out a half-assed apology, but the blame still really lay with the President as far as Rufus was concerned. He was showing his true colors, his inability to continue to lead. Heidegger was a military tactician, a former soldier, not fit to lead the Turks at all. This of course had been part of Rufus’ plan, but he had not banked on the Turks banding together so competently in their leader’s absence.

“Perhaps you should have appointed an interim leader,” Rufus interjected, “instead of expecting a brute-force military man to know how to lead a group of spies and assassins.”

His father fixed him with a furious look, his face going slightly red.

“Let me be perfectly clear. I have had enough of this situation entirely. We’ve been dealing with the SOLDIER problem for far too long. And where the hell is this Avalanche group getting the funding for so many troops?”

“They also have weapons fabricated from our blueprints,” Scarlet noted. “Which means our young VP is correct in his assumption that someone is feeding them information from inside.”

The President slammed his fist against the table in an almost comical expression of his rage, directing his attention to Veld. “Well who the _fuck_ is it then?”

Rufus rolled his eyes and turned to find Tseng staring at him with an absolutely murderous expression. Rufus had spent a great deal of time over the last few months beating the drum of rooting out the mole within the company, certain he could pin it on Lazard or, failing that, maybe bleeding-heart Tuesti. Had Tseng figured something out? But how would he have? Rufus had been meticulous in covering his tracks, up to and including rooting around in the Turks’ private files.

“Sir, I’m afraid we’re-” Veld began.

“We have a significant lead,” Tseng interrupted. It was perhaps the first time he had ever spoken at a board meeting without being directly addressed and his ears went red as the attention shifted to him.

“Do you?” asked Lazard, shifting forward in his seat. He looked uncomfortable; Rufus was still certain he was hiding something. How could he _truly_ be loyal to Shinra after being raised in the slums knowing his father had left him to rot there?

“We should discuss it privately,” the President said.

“Sir, until I have the requisite evidence, I think it would be best to wait,” Tseng said, the red in his ears creeping into his cheeks.

“Fine,” said the President. “But don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“So you have a lead, but no evidence?” Rufus feigned boredom. “How is that helpful?”

Tseng met his gaze with eyes ablaze. “I’m confident in my ability to procure evidence, _sir_.”

If Avalanche couldn’t take care of this problem, it might fall to Rufus to do it himself before Tseng had a chance to dig up any substantive dirt. He made a mental note not to leave home without his shotgun from now on.

* * *

Tseng hadn’t meant for the outburst during the board meeting, but the more it was discussed, the longer he looked at Rufus Shinra’s smug face, the angrier he got until he couldn’t help but explode with it. Since the incident in Junon several days earlier he had wanted to tell Veld, but he was hoping for evidence beyond ‘Rufus Shinra hates the Turks’ to provide to him.

“Tseng,” said Veld as they walked to his office. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a lead?”

“I don’t have any evidence, sir. Nothing concrete anyway. I just…have a strong suspicion based on personal history.”

Veld held the door to his office open and allowed him inside. Rather than taking a seat, Tseng paced, wringing his hands while Veld sat on the edge of his desk and watched him.

“And who do you suspect?”

Tseng took a deep breath. “Rufus Shinra.”

Veld exhaled slowly and rubbed his chin. “That’s a large allegation, Tseng.”

“I know. That’s why I want time: to gather evidence. But I’m almost certain it’s him. He’s trumpeting about the mole to divert attention from himself. He’s been especially pointed in suggesting Laz-Director Deusericus. He must know about the director’s past. He’s trying to pin it on anyone but himself, but-”

“Tseng.” Veld held his hand up to silence him. Tseng shut his mouth and sat down. “You’re one of my best operatives. If you think this is a lead worth following, I want you to follow it. I think you understand the gravity of levying this charge against the President’s son. We cannot do so without ample proof of his involvement. What’s your plan?”

For several days, Tseng had been dwelling on just that and while he wasn’t completely confident, he felt the plan he had devised might be the best solution for definitive proof.

“I would like to discuss the Ancient when only he and the President are present,” Tseng explained. “As far as I’m aware, only you, me, and the President know about my mission involving her, correct?” He neglected to include that Zack was at least peripherally aware of the mission, largely because if anyone was at the absolute bottom of his list of suspects, it was Zack.

Veld stared at Tseng with a scrutinizing look. “Yes.”

“I’ll go to the President and give him an update on the Ancient while the vice president is in the room with him. It’s important that none of the other executives are there. I’ll explain the concern that Aerith-that the Ancient could be used as collateral if anyone were to find out her location. The President will undoubtedly have something to say about her importance and tell us to beef up security if we’re worried about it.”

Veld nodded. “And if Rufus Shinra is the one feeding Avalanche information, they’ll show up to try and extract the Ancient.”

“Right.” Tseng’s heart was racing. “He’ll probably wait a suitable amount of time to avoid making himself look guilty. He’ll assume others know about this project, maybe even try to pin it on Hojo not realizing even Hojo doesn’t know where she is. If Avalanche never makes a move, we can clear him of any guilt. If, however, they attempt to abduct her at any time in the future-”

“It will be thanks to the vice president’s help. That’s a clever solution, Tseng. I want you to move forward with this plan. Consider telling the girl’s mother so she can assist us.”

Tseng had to stop himself from laughing out loud. If he told Elmyra he was using Aerith as bait to deal with a political issue tearing Shinra apart from the inside out she would finally use the pistol she was constantly brandishing at him and, if he had to guess, she would not make his death quick or painless.

No, he would set up surveillance drones to scout the perimeter of her yard as well as a few to keep track of her throughout the sector. That would be sufficient to alert him to any incoming threat.

“I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

He left Veld’s office and returned to his own desk to plot out a time in the President’s schedule that guaranteed him the access he needed.

* * *

“A whole week without a major meltdown, huh?” Reno said, propping his feet on the table in front of him and glancing out the window. Rude sat across from him eating his dinner and staring out at the city as well. One table over, the only remaining first-class besides Sephiroth sat chatting animatedly with another SOLDIER and a few security officers.

“Seems like everything’s escalating,” Rude noted.

“Let’s not talk about work.” Reno tipped his chair back and placed his hands on the back of his head. “Meet anyone worth your time lately?” He was trying his best to be encouraging about Rude’s love life despite his ever-worsening crush. Resigned to the fact that the two of them could never work for too many reasons to count, he realized he should at least be supportive of someone who was ostensibly his best friend.

“What’s the point?” Rude answered, staring at his food glumly. “It’s not like we can have normal relationships in our line of work.”

For a fleeting moment Reno almost leaned forward to kiss him, desperate in a way he had never really known to keep him from being sad. The impulse left him, logic ruling for once in his life, but he did squeeze Rude’s arm in a comforting gesture.

“Sorry, man.”

“Yeah,” Rude sighed. “Thanks.” He shook his head and took another bite of his food. “Let’s just enjoy a moment of peace, huh? It’s finally quiet around here for once.”

Reno and Rude would eventually learn that even commenting on a moment of calm at Shinra was inviting chaos into the building. Less than five minutes after Rude’s comment, the building-wide alarm system went off.

“SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH. BUILDING LOCKDOWN UNDERWAY. SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH. BUILDING LOCKDOWN UNDERWAY.”

“Ah, fuck,” Reno hissed. He contemplated sitting this one out, but if Veld caught wind of it, there would be a stern punishment waiting for him. “Guess we better go figure out what it is.”

Rude threw his sandwich against his plate with a scowl. “It’s always something. Can’t even enjoy a nice meal.”

“I’ll take you somewhere fancy when this is over,” Reno grinned, extending his EMR and pushing past the startled employees nearby.

“Okay, but I don’t fuck on the first date,” said Rude, so deadpan it made Reno reel. Just the thought of it had his mind going places it absolutely shouldn’t be.

“Well, deal’s off then.”

Rude laughed. They made their way to the stairwell, swiping their access cards to override the lockdown and running into Zack the SOLDIER and his friends inside.

“Hey! Turks!” Zack shouted.

“We have names, y’know,” Reno groused.

“We’re headed down to find out what happened. Did you hear anything?” Rude asked, ignoring Reno.

“Heidegger sent out a notice,” Zack explained, holding up his phone.

Reno and Rude peered at it. It was a notice that suspected undercover Avalanche troops had breached the building and made it into Hojo’s lab before anyone could sound the alarm. They were either trying to kill Hojo or kidnap him and in the process of fleeing had intentionally released a number of lab specimens. Given all the rumors about Hojo, Reno was somewhat inclined to let them, but if anyone was considered a Shinra asset it was Hojo.

Sighing, Reno turned to Rude, “Guess we should try and stop ‘em, huh partner?”

“Guess so,” said Rude, resigned.

“We’ll come with,” Zack suggested, rounding up his friends.

“Uh, no offense kid, but I think this is a bit above the security clearance of public safety officers,” Reno said, nodding at the two security officers next to the other SOLDIER.

“Oh,” Zack deflated. “I guess you’re right. Cloud, Jory, stay here. You should be safe because of the lockdown.”

The two security officers exchanged a look and returned to Skyview Hall with shoulders slumped.

“You can come along,” said Reno, winding up the stairs without waiting any longer. “But don’t slow us down!”

“Hey! Wait!”

But Reno and Rude had already left the SOLDIERS behind to play catchup.

* * *

“SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH. BUILDING LOCKDOWN UNDERWAY.”

The alarm went off as Tseng returned from a meeting with the President and vice president to begin his plan of uncovering the mole. Slowly but surely, the Turks still hanging around headquarters filed out of offices and training rooms with puzzled looks on their faces, whispers turning into a din of noise as they all questioned each other about what was going on.

Veld stepped out of his office last. “All right, settle down. We’re dealing with another Avalanche breach.” This was met with a lot of moaning and groaning from everyone. Several of them were still sporting bruises from their encounter in Junon. Cissnei had a scar left behind from the run-in with Shears, partially covered by her hair.

“Look, I know we’re all growing exhausted with this thorn in our side,” Veld silenced everyone once more, “but we need to deal with the problem all the same. Reno and Rude just reported in. They’re headed to the roof with two SOLDIERS to try and head off the escapees. We believe they have Professor Hojo in tow.”

From behind Tseng, Emma muttered, “Let them take him.” A few of their colleagues nodded in agreement.

“What I would like from the rest of you,” Veld continued, “is to sweep the building for any stragglers. Question anyone who looks suspicious. They broke in wearing Shinra uniforms and using Shinra badges. Break into teams and start with all of the restricted access floors. Tseng, a word.”

This elicited a scoff from Emma as she and the others turned to leave. Tseng stayed behind.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your meeting was successful?” Veld asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’d like you to check the forty-ninth floor for any threats. Our system indicates that Director Deusericus overrode the lockdown to access the file room.”

Tseng’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Do you think-?”

“There could be any number of reasons for this,” Veld interrupted. “So instead of speculating, I’d like you to go investigate. Director Deusericus is on good terms with you. If he’s done nothing wrong, there’s nothing to worry about and while I think it’s unlikely that he and the VP might be working together…we shouldn’t underestimate anyone.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll check in on him.”

During a building lockdown, the elevators were off limits even to those who had the ability to override other locks, which meant Tseng would have to climb up forty-nine flights of stairs to reach Lazard’s office. Tseng was in excellent shape, but even the fittest SOLDIER at Shinra would have been winded by such a climb; by the time Tseng reached his destination, he was gasping for breath and clutching at a stitch in his side. Subsequently, he had to give himself a minute to recover before scanning his card to enter the forty-ninth floor.

Unsurprisingly, the floor was relatively deserted. During a security breach like this, any available SOLDIERS would be out sweeping the building and attempting to contain the threat. Tseng wound his way through the floor to Lazard’s office. The lights were off, but when he peered inside he could see movement, so he stepped inside with his gun drawn expecting to encounter resistance in the form of an Avalanche soldier rooting around in Lazard’s files.

Instead, Lazard emerged from beneath the desk with a large duffel bag in hand, shoving files into the bag and looking up in alarm at the sight of Tseng with his gun trained on him.

“Tseng.” Lazard looked disheveled, eyes wide and focused squarely on Tseng’s gun.

“Lazard,” Tseng said, lowering his gun even as alarm bells were ringing in his head. What had Tseng caught him in the middle of? Were his fears about Rufus really misplaced? Had Lazard orchestrated everything? He should have kept his gun trained on such an unknown variable, but Lazard had always been kind enough that Tseng felt he deserved a chance to explain himself. At least that’s how Tseng justified letting an absurd infatuation directly impact his ability to carry out his job. “What’s going on?”

“This must look pretty bad,” Lazard laughed nervously.

“I was asked to clear this floor of any threats,” Tseng responded, careful to keep his voice even and neutral. “What are you doing? Because it looks like you’re packing Shinra intel into a bag with the intent to flee.”

Lazard sighed and set his bag down, crossing the room slowly. He was wise to do so in the presence of a Turk, but for now Tseng was only keeping a watchful eye on his movements. He knew what he had walked in on, but he wanted a thorough explanation.

“Tseng,” said Lazard. “Tell me truthfully. Was I on your list of suspects? The vice president has been insistent about rooting out the mole and I’ve caught him sneaking around my office after hours when he thought I was gone. You must know who I am. What I came from. You do, don’t you?” He inched closer to Tseng as he spoke. Tseng’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “You were on my list of suspects. I know that the President is your father.”

Lazard nodded. “No matter what else you learn in the coming months or years, please know I had nothing to do with Avalanche. I swear it on my life.”

Tseng scanned his face. In his gut, he believed Lazard was telling the truth, and so far in his life his gut had rarely steered him wrong. Unfortunately, his gut was also telling him that Lazard was dangerous whether he was being honest about Avalanche or not.

“If I believe you,” said Tseng, “I want an explanation for what I’ve walked in on.”

“Of course.” Lazard took a step closer and for a second Tseng considered grabbing his pistol again, but he wasn’t totally thinking straight and although he recognized it was stupid of him, he let his guard down in the presence of someone he almost considered a friend. “I wish I could give you a thorough explanation, Tseng.” Lazard cupped Tseng’s cheek and all rational thought was immediately shut off.

“Lazard,” Tseng breathed.

“I thought it would be easy…hating this place and everything it stood for. But it wasn’t as black and white as I thought.” Lazard’s thumb brushed lightly against Tseng’s cheek where he held it and Tseng realized he was holding his breath. He stared at Lazard’s lips, his head swimming, half of him screaming to move, to get away from Lazard as quickly as he could and the other half willing their bodies closer together.

“What…?” Tseng swallowed hard.

“I genuinely like you, Tseng. I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to get caught in the middle of this even though I knew you would,” he laughed, a look of profound sadness playing across his face. “It’s your job to get in the way, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand,” Tseng breathed.

“Maybe…in another life we could have had something.”

Lazard brushed his nose against Tseng’s and brought their lips together in a tender kiss. So many thoughts assaulted Tseng’s brain at once that instead of acting on any of them he found himself leaning into the kiss, gripping Lazard’s shirt, opening his mouth to Lazard’s desperate for more. Lazard pressed him into the wall and kissed him more eagerly, tearing away before Tseng was ready for it to end.

Tseng remained leaning against the wall, breathless and dizzy.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Tseng.”

“Lazard-”

Before he knew what hit him, Tseng was overcome with an unbearable fatigue. He slumped down the wall, all the strength gone from his muscles, and fell against the floor. The last thing he saw before the sleep spell overtook him was Lazard zipping up the duffel bag and hurrying out of the room.

* * *

“Tseng? Can you hear me?”

Tseng awoke to a skull-splitting headache and the sound of Veld’s voice hovering somewhere above him. He groaned and struggled to open his eyes, still fighting the sleep spell lingering in his system.

“You’re all right. Open your eyes for me.”

Tseng managed to obey the request. He found himself in the rec hall in Turk Headquarters lying flat on an exercise mat with Veld standing over him wearing a severe expression. As Tseng tried to parse what was happening and what he was doing on the floor like that, he recalled the kiss he shared with Lazard and the sudden betrayal as he was hit with the sleep spell.

“Sir,” he sat up too fast and got a head rush.

“Steady now. You got hit with a powerful spell.” Veld placed a supportive hand on Tseng’s shoulder. “Take your time. Stand when you think you’re ready.”

“Sir, Lazard. Director Deusericus, he-”

“I am aware of what you encountered in the director’s office,” Veld replied cryptically.

“Sir-”

“Tseng,” said Veld more firmly. “Stand up when you’re ready and we’ll go to my office and discuss this further.”

Tseng felt like he was going to be ill irrespective of the lingering effects of Lazard’s materia. Struggling to his feet, he followed Veld down the hall to his office and fell into the chair in front of his desk. Veld sat wordlessly behind his desk and turned his computer monitor to face Tseng, playing back a video of Lazard pressing Tseng into the wall and kissing him. Most damning of all was the way Tseng pulled Lazard against him after the initial kiss, clearly inviting more.

All of the blood left Tseng’s face and a pit settled in his stomach. He waited to say anything until Veld invited him to speak.

“Do you understand the severity of what happened, Tseng?” Veld asked, turning the monitor back to face him. Nothing about his demeanor gave away just how furious Tseng knew he must be, his reaction so even-keeled it made Tseng’s hair stand on end. “I have never been so disappointed in an operative. I…” He paused to collect his thoughts, clenching his fists. “I would expect this from someone impulsive like Reno, but you? Do you know what would happen if the President or Vice President saw this video?”

Tseng nodded, jaw clenched. “I understand, sir.”

“Explain yourself.”

In addition to his genuine terror that this might lead to his termination, there was an element of embarrassment as well. For all intents and purposes Veld had largely acted as a father figure when taking Tseng on as his protege. It was humiliating to admit he had let himself be lured in by a stupid, childish crush.

“Director Deusericus and I were on friendly terms,” Tseng began.

“Evidently,” Veld scoffed.

“Nothing ever happened until today,” Tseng was quick to correct. “I understand the rules against fraternization, sir. I take it seriously. I just had a…the director was always cordial with me. I worked closely with his operatives. When I encountered him in the office I asked him to explain himself and I was taken by surprise. I knew I should have pulled my gun on him and I failed to act.” He hung his head in shame. “I understand if this means I have to be terminated, sir.”

To his surprise, Veld let out a bark of laughter. “Terminated? Shiva, Tseng.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to condemn you to death for the crime of letting your feelings get in the way. I _am_ extremely disappointed. I acknowledge that it’s not always easy to leave behind your emotions during a mission, but you have been the one operative I never had to worry about. I’m placing you on desk duty for the next month as punishment. Because of your mistake Director Deusericus was able to flee Midgar. We believe he has been acting as an informant for Genesis Rhapsodos.”

Tseng felt a mixture of emotions at all of this information: relief that he wasn’t being fired, anger at being deceived and betrayed, shock that mild-mannered Lazard had been aiding such a heinous operation. It was difficult to process all at once.

“I understand and accept my punishment, sir.”

“Your only field assignment will be to defend Aerith if your plan to expose the vice president comes to fruition. Am I understood?” Veld asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Tseng. Learn from this, but don’t let it destroy you. Turks are all still only human at the end of the day.” Veld rubbed his brow. “What I’m about to tell you never leaves this room.”

Tseng was too overwhelmed to do anything but nod.

“I made a far worse mistake than this when I was younger. Love…and lust make us do illogical things. Unfortunately, my mistake led to much more severe consequences than this. I fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have and in the end I was given my most difficult assignment. All I’m trying to say is you must find a balance. You can’t completely harden yourself to feeling, as I suspect you sometimes try,” he gave Tseng a knowing look and Tseng looked away. “But you also must shut those feelings off when you’re on the job.”

“I understand, sir.”

“You can’t possibly, but I want you to understand there are punishments worse than death.” For a moment, Veld looked overcome with emotion, but he choked it back and put on a stern expression once more. “As I said, this never leaves this room.” Tseng nodded once more to indicate he understood. “The woman I fell in love with was Margaret Shinra. And my punishment for being caught was the order to kill her.”

Tseng stared at his mentor, blank faced. “Sir?”

All Tseng knew about Margaret Shinra, the President’s only wife and Rufus’ mother, was that she had fallen to her death from the top of Shinra Tower. It had been ruled a suicide.

“I believe that I lost my wife and daughter as punishment too. Karmic retribution, if you will. There may come a day where President Shinra asks you to turn your gun on someone you care about as punishment for your crimes. A mistake like you made today could lead to a choice between your death or someone you care about.” Veld was no longer looking directly at him, his gaze distant and glassy-eyed. “I often wish I’d made a different choice.”

The lesson, Tseng supposed, was to avoid a scenario that forced such a choice. Instead, it left Tseng feeling conflicted about the one person he respected most while he silently vowed never to allow himself to be open with someone again. After all, if he hardened himself to love, he could never have it used against him, he could never let his guard down enough to be deceived as he had that day.

He would love no one and nothing. He would devote himself entirely to Shinra and the Turks. What else was left for him in the end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooo boy I've been excited to post this chapter since I wrote it. I really think Lazard is a tragic character and I think he did come to care about the SOLDIERS under him and (in my scenario) the Turks he worked with even as he was actively fighting them. Unfortunately, that's gonna have some pretty important lasting consequences for poor Tseng's ability to form meaningful relationships lmao. ANYWAY. Thank you for reading!


	15. In Check

Tseng sat on a crumbling pew inside the church in Sector Five where Aerith spent much of her time, watching as she tended a small patch of flowers positioned directly in a beam of light that filtered in through one of several holes in the roof. Tseng had his concerns about the decaying structure of the building, but he understood it was a sort of refuge for Aerith.

For six years Tseng had watched over Aerith, watching her grow from a cheerful child, to an obstinate teenager, and now to an extraordinary young woman. She took her role as Tseng’s ward in stride. There had been periods of rebellion, half-hearted attempts to run away cut short by her fear of the world outside the safety of the plate, but now she largely accepted Tseng’s regular visits and treated him with a kindness and compassion he didn’t deserve.

He had come to think of her like a younger sister, an attachment he recognized was sentimental and foolish. He worked often to harden himself against it, still aching from the betrayal of trusting Lazard, but Aerith would not accept his attempts. She tucked a flower into his breast pocket every time he left and told him to give it to someone he cared about. Having no one, he usually left the flowers to die in a vase in his apartment, often meeting an untimely end when Maomao chewed the petals off.

Tseng would simply have to do his best to keep his attachment to Aerith private. A day would come when he would have to return her to Shinra Tower and it would be easier for everyone if they didn’t care for each other. Neither he nor Aerith were naive to the point of his visits, of course, and while she treated him with the same sweet disposition she reserved for anyone not actively attempting to hurt her, he knew she remained wary that at the end of the day he was a trained assassin.

“Have you seen Zack lately?” Aerith asked, taking a flower between her fingers to prune the leaves.

“Just last week,” Tseng answered.

He was both surprised and a little tickled that Zack and Aerith’s puppy love had lasted so long. More than a year had passed since they met and this was the first time in many months that Zack wasn’t lingering around when Tseng showed up for his usual check-in. Part of that was likely to blame on the fact that he had dropped in earlier than usual. Avalanche troops had been spotted in the sewers by one of his colleagues and Veld had given the word to let them pass so they could follow their path. If they found their way to Aerith, it would be the first scrap of evidence for the Turks to build their case against Rufus Shinra. As a result, Tseng was on edge, constantly glancing back at the entrance to the church.

“Zack likes you a lot,” Aerith told him. “He talks about you.”

“Perhaps you should correct him,” said Tseng, shifting in the pew so he could keep an eye on the entrance.

Aerith snorted. “Please. You’ve been coming to check on me for so long, I don’t buy your scary act. It’s just too bad I don’t have pictures of you holding my flower baskets.” Tseng raised his eyebrows and she giggled. “Good blackmail.”

In a pink dress with a pink ribbon holding back her braid, her large green eyes twinkling with mischief that someone who didn’t know her well might mistake for naivety, it was easy enough for strangers to misjudge Aerith as a sweet and innocent angel who couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Tseng, having been the victim of many pranks at her hand when she was a young teen, saw through her sweet disguise. Aerith was both smart and cunning, skills learned from her mother and a lifetime living beneath the plate where showing weakness was a liability. Tseng liked to think he had helped play a hand in shaping her too - he had taught her a few key moves to protect herself. When he offered to buy her a gun and show her how to use it, she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, but she did settle on an aluminum staff which would render anybody unconscious if she hit them hard enough with it.

“Does your mother know you’re such an imp?” Tseng asked.

“Know? It’s her fault,” Aerith giggled again. Her laughter sounded like wind chimes, lovely and melodic.

Tseng allowed himself a smile. “Aerith. I should warn you that I’m here earlier than usual this month because we believe there are some men looking for you.

She seemed unperturbed by the information. “So, finally going to do some _actual_ bodyguard work? You always say that’s why you’re here, but you’ve never actually protected me from anything.”

“I bought you that staff,” Tseng pointed out.

“That doesn’t count.”

“If these people show up,” Tseng said, ignoring her, “I need you to run into the back room and hide until I come find you.”

“And what if you don’t win, huh?” Aerith stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I’m just supposed to let them beat you and take me away? What do they want with me anyway?”

Every conversation with Aerith that centered around her importance to Shinra involved concessions on Tseng’s part, telling her company secrets that he could have been fired for. He chose his words carefully.

“These people want to destroy Shinra, but that doesn’t mean they want to help you. They just want to take you and sell you to the highest bidder. Or use you for the same means the President has in mind. Please trust me, Aerith. These people aren’t any better than I am just because they don’t like Shinra.”

Aerith’s brow furrowed. She held Tseng’s gaze with such an intensity that he already knew there was no telling her ‘no’, whatever came out of her mouth next.

“Fine. But I’m not leaving you to fight alone.”

He sighed, “Aerith. You’re seventeen and you learned all of your fighting skills from the streets. I’m a trained operative. I have almost ten years of experience under my belt. Just let me handle it.”

She puffed out her chest. “Make me.”

There was no arguing with her, he supposed. If and when it came down to a fight, all he could do was try to keep himself between her and Avalanche.

They didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes after their argument, the first troops appeared in the doorway. Their armor was the same tan they always wore when not undercover, but it looked newer and sturdier, the result of Rufus Shinra’s generous wealth Tseng guessed. Tseng raised his pistol and Aerith took a defensive stance behind him with her staff raised.

“We’re here for the girl, Turk.”

A woman stepped past the troops in the doorway with a sword in hand. She wore a green bandana around her neck similar to the one Shears wore on his head, her armor much lighter than that of the troops. Tseng had never encountered her before, but Reno had described a similar woman in Junon who had made a mess of things - only Sephiroth had been able to scare her off.

“Are you the leader then?” Tseng asked.

She smirked. “That’s right. You can just call me Elfe. I came to see this job through myself. Couldn’t let such a valuable find slip through our fingers. Especially after we botched the last job with Hojo.” She looked at Aerith and smiled. “What sort of lies has the Turk been feeding you, Aerith?”

Aerith tightened her grip on her staff. “Don’t think you can just sweet talk me into siding with you,” she growled.

“I see,” Elfe nodded. “They’ve had you under their thumb so long you think they’re your friends. Well let me tell you something. A Turk is always a Turk at the end of the day. I know from experience. They say they care about you, that they love you, but they’ll discard you in a second if Shinra asks it of them.”

“That’s enough,” Tseng said, cocking his gun. He was admittedly curious which Turk this ‘Elfe’ knew. “I made quick work of your friend Shears. I’m happy to do the same for you.”

Elfe laughed. “That’s not the way Shears told it. You did fuck his leg up, but it’s nothing a little materia didn’t fix. The way I heard it, he almost had you. And it doesn’t look like you have any Turk friends to back you up this time.”

“Think again, bitch!”

Reno leaped down from the rafters and slammed against Elfe’s back. Tseng, knowing Avalanche might bring someone as dangerous as Shears in again, had asked Reno, Rude, Emma, and Cissnei to assist him on this mission. It was a risk, allowing more Turks to know about Aerith, but he trusted them. Losing Aerith was too much to risk, so Veld had agreed to fill a few more Turks in on their most classified mission.

Elfe didn’t take long to recover from the blow Reno dealt, rolling onto her back and slicing at Reno with her sword. Reno hopped backward with the aid of his haste materia and swung at her with his EMR, but she dashed into the pews and he made contact with the side of one instead, sending splinters of wood flying through the air.

From the back room, Rude and Emma emerged as more Avalanche troops rushed in to aid their leader. Cissnei was still up above in the rafters, and she swung down, flinging her shuriken with deadly aim. It lodged between the shoulders of one of the Avalanche soldiers and he slumped forward onto the floor.

“Tseng!” Aerith cried, stepping behind him. “There’s so many of them!”

“Stay behind me,” Tseng commanded. He fired off a few shots at two approaching soldiers and inched down the aisle.

“Watch out!”

Tseng spun on his heels just in time to duck as Elfe launched herself at him. She caught him in the shoulder with her sword and he nearly dropped his gun as a bolt of pain shot through the nerves on his arm. He was subsequently shocked when he felt gentle fingers pressed against his back and the cool relief of restore materia spreading through the wound - Aerith was staying close.

“Protecting your captors?”

Elfe held her sword out and walked in a tight circle, Tseng following her movements. Around them, the other Turks kept the troops from encroaching, a cacophonous noise filling the church as gunshots and weapons scraping against armor reverberated against the stone walls.

“What’s the saying?” Aerith asked, knuckles white as she clutched at her staff. “Better the devil I know than the devil I don’t?”

Tseng smirked and fired a shot at Elfe’s feet. She jumped back just in time to avoid it. Her eyes scanned Tseng’s face as they continued to move in a circle around each other, Aerith sticking close to Tseng’s back.

“You must be Tseng, then,” Elfe said. “We’ve got special orders for you. Somebody at Shinra doesn’t like you very much.”

Tseng pursed his lips. “I’m aware of how Rufus Shinra feels about me.”

The shock on her face was fleeting and nearly imperceptible, but Tseng saw it all the same. It was further confirmation of what the appearance of Avalanche troops already told him: Rufus Shinra was funding Avalanche and he was using them to attempt to get rid of the Turks. Tseng imagined he had other goals in mind in funding what had started as an annoying but manageable group of insurgents.

“Should I be honored that he singled me out specifically?” Tseng continued.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elfe feigned ignorance. “All I know is I’m inclined to carry out the order our funder gave us given what you did to Shears.” She leaped forward and Tseng caught her in the gut with a punch, but she still managed to tackle him to the ground, gripping his ponytail and yanking his head back to expose his neck to her sword. He grappled with her, jaw clenched, clawing and kicking with all of his strength, gripping the blade of her sword until it cut through the thick leather of his gloves. If he could keep it from his throat, that was ideal, but he was more concerned with keeping Elfe away from Aerith.

“Tseng!” Aerith cried out.

“Aerith!” He yelled. “Go to Reno! The redhead!”

She looked to Reno, engaged in a fight with two troops, back-to-back with Rude. Rather than listen to Tseng, she lifted her staff and slammed it against the side of Elfe’s head, dazing her enough for Tseng to get out from under her and scramble to his feet. He put himself between Aerith and Elfe once more and fired a shot that landed in Elfe’s shoulder.

Struggling significantly with her injuries, Elfe scrambled backward behind a pew. Tseng gave chase - he would kill her if he could. She slid beneath the pew, leaving a trail of blood on the floor in her wake, and Tseng fired off several shots through the seat of the pew.

“Elfe’s injured!” One of the nearby soldiers seemed to notice what was happening. Several of the troops engaged in combat with the other Turks disengaged to attempt to aid her.

“Get fucked,” Emma hissed, firing on the soldier who notified the others and landing a shot between the eyes.

“Send in the backup,” another Avalanche soldier spoke into a device at her chest. “Elfe’s injured. We need to get her out.”

More troops flooded into the church. Emma ran in front of Tseng, putting herself between him and the troops.

“Emma, what are you-?”

“Get the girl out of here,” Emma said. “We’ll hold them off.”

Tseng nodded. “Thank you.”

“We’re still Turks,” she told him. “That’s what matters, right?”

“Right.” Tseng grabbed Aerith’s wrist. “Aerith, come with me.”

They ran through the back of the church into a room hidden behind the stairs. It was better to wait there and keep Aerith safe than to try to engage the oncoming troops, even if Tseng hated the idea of leaving the others behind. Aerith was his top priority: protect Shinra assets at all costs.

“Are you all right?” Tseng asked, scanning her for any injuries.

She sighed and sat against the floor. “I’m fine. What about you?”

She gripped his arms and gently twisted his palms upward to reveal the damage done by Elfe’s sword. The blade managed to dig through the fabric of his gloves and leave gashes on both palms, which Tseng allowed Aerith to tend to with some restore materia, though he knew he would have difficulty gripping anything for a while. Despite the aid of materia, his wounds ached, and once Aerith was content that he wasn’t bleeding out, he sat down and leaned against the wall.

“I should have known you would have backup,” Aerith said, shaking her head. After a moment of silence, she added, “Thank you. For protecting me.”

“It’s my job,” said Tseng.

And though they both recognized it was more complicated than that, they both also realized there was no need to discuss it. After a few minutes, Reno limped in, leaning heavily on Rude.

“They got away, but we took out about ten or fifteen of them and injured several more,” Rude reported. “Emma and Cissnei are in pursuit. I think Emma’s hoping to bring the leader in.”

Tseng sighed. “Very well. Thank you for your help. How badly are you injured?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Reno muttered.

“He twisted his ankle,” Rude explained. “I’m going to get him back to headquarters. You want me to call in a cleanup crew?”

“No,” Tseng shook his head. “I’ll take care of it.”

Reno and Rude exchanged a look before nodding and making their way out of the church.

“Aerith, let me take you home,” Tseng said once they were gone.

Usually, Aerith would protest whenever Tseng wanted to follow her through the sector. Although Tseng suspected the citizens of the sector who had known her since she was a child were well aware she was ‘different’, Aerith disliked anything that marked her as such. A Turk following her through the sector made her conspicuous. This time, however, she didn’t protest. She looked exhausted - it was the first time since coming to live with Elmyra that anyone had come after her like this and it had clearly shaken her.

“Okay,” she said. “Should I…I’m not going to tell my mom about this.”

“That’s up to you. I’m happy to take the brunt of her ire,” Tseng chuckled, leading her out of the church, past several bodies. Blood leached into floorboards and Tseng directed Aerith not to look at it. He would clean it up and there would be no sign of what had occurred there.

When they reached the Gainsborough residence, Elmyra stood outside the door with her arms folded across her chest and her gun conspicuously present in a holster at her hip. Aerith ran to her and they embraced while Tseng stood awkward and uncomfortable a few feet away.

“Go inside, baby. I want to talk to Tseng alone.”

“Mom, he-”

“Go on.”

Aerith mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to Tseng and did as her mother asked. Once she was inside, Elmyra marched up to Tseng, and though she stood several inches shorter than him, Tseng felt intimidated by her presence nonetheless.

“I just had several people here telling me a bunch of strange men in uniforms were storming Aerith’s church.”

Tseng nodded. “An anti-Shinra militant group interested in obtaining Aerith for the same reasons Shinra is interested in her.”

Elmyra clenched her fists and looked for a moment as though she might cry, but then her features softened. “To be honest, I thought something like this would happen sooner. You protected her from those people?”

“Yes.”

For the first time in the six years Tseng had been assigned to watch over Aerith, Elmyra placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” Tseng repeated the same reasoning he’d given to Aerith, if only in an attempt to convince himself that’s all it was. Elmyra let go of him and took a step back. “Elmyra, there may be other Turks stopping in to check on Aerith from now on. We want to make sure she’s safe. This group…they’ve caused a lot of trouble.”

Elmyra nodded. “So long as the same rules apply.”

“Of course.”

Content with this answer, Elmyra nodded and returned to comfort Aerith while Tseng left to complete his job: meticulously cleaning up every body within the church and erasing any evidence that Avalanche had been there at all.

* * *

“We didn’t get the girl and the Turks almost killed me. Seems like they were expecting us.”

Elfe’s e-mail had been short and to the point and though mood was difficult to portray through text, Rufus got the feeling she was pretty pissed off. So was he. He didn’t really give a shit one way or another if they got the girl, though it would have been nice to hold over his father’s head given how long the Turks seemed to be tracking her. He was more concerned with getting rid of the thorn in his side that was Tseng: what once had been annoying at best was now quickly turning into a festering wound - he needed to excise it as soon as possible.

If the people he was paying couldn’t manage it, Rufus would have to take matters into his own hands.

The best course of action, he thought, was to corner Tseng somewhere where there weren’t cameras and where he was guaranteed to be alone. That meant finding him in the Turks’ headquarters late at night when everyone else had gone home. Barring that, he would have to figure out where Tseng lived and ambush him. He wouldn’t kill him right away, of course. If he could buy him over to his side, he’d be more useful that way, but Rufus didn’t suspect Tseng could be swayed so easily. Killing him also wouldn’t solve all of his problems, but it would at least send a clear message to the Turks.

So he waited until the early hours of the morning, waited until he saw Veld leave on the security feeds, and made his way down to Turks’ headquarters only to find his access card would no longer allow him entry. That was an easy enough fix; he overrode the locks by prying open the mechanism and manually forcing the access.

The hallway was silent and dark, but the door to the executive office was ajar and Rufus could hear the sounds of typing issuing from within. Moving as quietly as he could, Rufus readied his pistol and inched along the hallway toward the office. He knew if he brought his shotgun it would be far too conspicuous, making a mess of the office and marking him as an immediate suspect. So he opted for a pistol his father had given him many years earlier that largely went unused.

When he reached the door he stood still against the wall to the side of the doorway and listened as Tseng ceased typing and yawned. Good, better to catch him off guard while he was tired. Rufus wasn’t foolish enough to think he could take on a Turk with Tseng’s experience in a fair fight.

Taking a calming breath, Rufus swung into the office with his pistol raised to find the desks empty. Before he could turn around to scan the room, a blow to his back knocked the wind out of him, a firm grip around his wrist forcing him to drop the pistol. Tseng kicked it across the room and then wrenched Rufus to the floor with such force that his shoulder came loose from its socket with a violently painful _pop_.

Then he was on the ground, dazed, and Tseng was on top of him with his hand around his throat, firm enough to get his attention but not tight enough to leave a mark.

“Mr. Vice President,” Tseng said, jaw clenched. “Were you concerned for my well-being? Is that why you came down here with a loaded gun?”

Rufus didn’t bother fighting against his grip. He was well aware Tseng could crush his windpipe if he wanted to - and the look in his eyes suggested he was just hoping for a reason.

“That’s right,” Rufus said. “I thought I saw an intruder on the security feed.”

“How thoughtful of you to care about me that much,” said Tseng, his knees dug into Rufus’ thighs to the point of pain. “I had a run in quite recently with one of your friends. She said her name was Elfe. Sound familiar?”

“Never heard of her,” Rufus spoke with a feigned calmness, wincing when Tseng’s thumb pressed harder against his Adam’s apple.

Tseng leaned down until his face was so close to Rufus’ their noses touched. “I know you’re the mole, _sir_. I’m curious how the President might react to that news.”

Rufus scoffed. “Tell him. You don’t have the evidence.” He was confident of this much. If Tseng had sufficient evidence to pin it on him, he would have already told his father. He was trying to intimidate him into giving up more information. Rufus had spent far too much time with Turks lurking around him not to pick up a few of their tricks.

“I don’t,” Tseng admitted. “At least not enough. But you had better watch your back.”

“Are you threatening me?” Tseng pressed his palm hard against Rufus’ dislocated shoulder and Rufus couldn’t contain the groan of pain that left his throat. He clenched his teeth and bucked against Tseng to no avail. “If my father finds out about this, you’ll be fired.”

Faster than Rufus could process it, Tseng gripped his arm and wrenched his shoulder back into place. Rufus howled in pain and Tseng moved off of him, standing over him with a dark look in his eyes. “Tell him,” he said. “You don’t have the evidence.”

Rufus scrambled to his feet, glancing at the pistol on the other side of the room. It wasn’t worth the risk. He dusted himself off and met Tseng’s gaze.

“I’m not afraid of you.” It was a lie. The Turks were both loyal to his father and had no boundaries when it came to what they would do for him. Would his father have him killed if it came to it? He couldn’t honestly say.

“You should be,” Tseng answered.

“Well,” Rufus said. “I’m glad you’re safe. No intruder after all.”

“Right,” said Tseng, playing along. “Thank you for your concern, sir. If I catch you down here again, it won’t be a pleasant experience for you.”

“Oh, Tseng,” Rufus laughed. “It’s always pleasant running into you. You take care now.”

He left before he could get himself into further trouble, hurrying to the elevator while Tseng watched him from the doorway. In retrospect, he should have anticipated that Tseng would be prepared for such an ambush - he was a veteran Turk after all. The experience left him rattled, but mostly uninjured. He was confident that Tseng didn’t have sufficient evidence that he was the mole, but the fact that he had any evidence at all was alarming.

He would have to be more careful. Any slip-up could land him in hot water. He wanted his father’s seat of power, but was he willing to risk his life for it?

Then again, was he really a Shinra if he wasn’t?

* * *

Tseng stood before the President, Veld at his side, waiting for a response after recounting the admittedly limited evidence he had against Rufus. Given how other executives might gain access to valuable intel, Avalanche attempting to kidnap Aerith wasn’t concrete proof Rufus had given the order - it _was_ enough to raise suspicion though.

“Well,” said the President, puffing on his cigar and staring out the window at Midgar. “It doesn’t look good, but it’s not exactly a smoking gun, is it?”

“No, sir,” Tseng bowed his head.

“Rufus…what is he thinking?” The President turned to face them. “Veld, put him on Rufus’ detail. I want eyes on him every second of the day.”

Tseng considered a protest, but Veld beat him to it.

“Sir, respectfully, if we have a Turk on his detail at all times, it will be difficult to catch him consorting with the terrorists. I suggest instead that we be allowed to place trackers and audio recording devices. Of course, I am happy to assign Tseng to the vice president’s detail during important events. Blocking his access to the terrorists during, for example, press conferences, helps ensure he can’t give orders in those situations.”

The President nodded and tipped some ashes from his cigar into an ashtray on his desk. “What kind of orders exactly?”

“Sir, Avalanche has already made an attempt on your life once,” said Veld.

“Fine,” the President barked. “I want him on Rufus’ detail at all major events. Otherwise get me the evidence through whatever means necessary. As soon as you have it I want him brought here to answer for it. And if you don’t get the evidence, I want to know who the hell was trying to pin it on him.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now go. Get it done.”

Veld and Tseng didn’t wait for a second order. They walked to the elevator together and only once the doors had closed, did Veld speak again.

“I’m going to send Emma to bug his apartment and hide a tracker on that shotgun of his. You’ll review the data every week and report back to me. Understood?”

Tseng nodded. “Of course, sir. And the detail?”

“I know it’s not ideal. But I trust you more than anyone else to keep him from doing something seriously detrimental to this company. Or to the Turks.”

Tseng accepted the mission without protest. As much as he loathed the idea of watching over Rufus Shinra after as many times as he’d been forced onto his detail, he did enjoy the thought of how angry it would make Rufus, and that was good enough to get him through.

They just needed the evidence to completely pin it on him. Then he would be punished for his actions.

Tseng did wonder what that punishment might entail. Would the President order the Turks to kill his own son as he had his wife? Knowing what Tseng now knew about the late Margaret Shinra, he couldn’t really put it past the President to make the same order for Rufus. After all, wasn’t it Rufus himself who pointed out how easily his father could replace him with another bastard?

To his surprise, Tseng felt a little pang of pity, something for which Rufus surely would have mocked him. He deserved a severe punishment for what he had done, but did he deserve death?

Then again, why should Tseng waste any time pitying a man who had tried to kill him a day earlier?

All that really mattered now is that Rufus Shinra got the punishment that he was due, whatever that might entail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write. As I've said before I really enjoy exploring Aerith's relationship with the Turks, but especially Tseng. I do think they love each other in their own way. It was also just fun to have her fighting along Tseng for once.
> 
> And then there's the good old fashioned homoerotic tension between Tseng and Rufus.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading and for all the lovely comments. Fair warning: the next chapter will be covering the Nibelheim incident, so start bracing now I guess :)


End file.
